


Unequivocal

by irene_doe



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Draco Malfoy, Auror Harry Potter, Auror Ron Weasley, Eventual Smut, F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hurt/Comfort, Marriage Contracts, Marriage Law Challenge, Married Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Mates, Ministry of Magic Employee Hermione Granger, Mutual Pining, Post-Hogwarts, Redemption, Veela, Veela Draco Malfoy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:21:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 77,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24075877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irene_doe/pseuds/irene_doe
Summary: Hermione thought her biggest issues this year would be  being stuck in a dead-end job and not quite getting along with her new officemate, Draco Malfoy. However, the Ministry is about turn her tidy and contained  life upside down with the announcement of the new Marriage and Family Law, and there's more trouble brewing as outbursts of uncontrolled magic begin to wreck havoc in the office.Draco has been reassigned to Corporate Services after an Auror mission went spectacularly sideways; at least, that's what he's telling everyone. The truth is hardly as straightforward and Granger has him increasingly on edge, so naturally, he was only too pleased to learn of the new Law that was going to out him as a Creature to the woman he loves.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Ron Weasley/Other(s)
Comments: 402
Kudos: 1399





	1. Chapter One

Unequivocal  
Chapter One

  
“You’re staring, Granger,” he growled. Draco was bent over a series of parchments, had been studying them intently for nearly a half hour, and Hermione was starting to get concerned.  
“Sorry,” she said, embarrassed, “it just seems like maybe there’s a… problem?” Typically, Draco seemed to barely read through the contracts once before making a determination as to what should be done about them. 

“Indeed,” he drawled, “I seem to have a witch watching me like I’m a particularly curious beast.” He glanced up and met her gaze. “I don’t suppose you may know how I could remedy that?” Hermione broke his gaze and glanced over to their one charmed window to the outside; it showed a perfectly calm summer’s day, though she knew the muggle meteorologists were calling for stretch of miserably wet weather.  
“Sorry,” she said again.  
“Don’t apologize,” he bit out as he continued to scrutinize the parchments that caused all the trouble. “Do better. You know I despise signs of weakness in a witch, Granger.”  
  
Hermione scoffed and stood abruptly to exit their office. Once in the hall, she tried to maintain a steely demeanor until she managed to get to the loo. Luckily, it was empty. Wandlessly, she locked and sealed off the room and felt a wave of dizziness move through her. Wandless magic had been relatively simple for her, but lately she noticed it appeared to sap her of a little energy, and this dizziness was a new and wholly unpleasant experience. Rolling her shoulders, cracking her neck and looking at her flushed face in the mirror she sighed.  
“Come on, Hermione,” she whispered. “Get. It. Together. Dammit.” There was once a time when Hermione could regularly partake in workplace conversations with wizards and not feel like a complete prat, but that was a time decidedly before she’d had to sit across from a brooding Malfoy all day.  
  
  
  
Draco Malfoy started working in her section of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement two months before, and in the time he’d been working across from her, she’d seen him approach the majority of his work with a disdain familiar to her from years of Charms classes together. It bothered her at first, that he was so cavalier about everything that crossed his desk. During his first three weeks, she struggled to resist combing over his work to search for errors or malicious intent.  
“Quite a Ronald-like impulse, that,” Ginny noted once over drinks. Hermione flushed to the roots of her hair.  
“I’m not that bad,” she sniffed.  
“Oh really? You’re not looking for shady dealings to prove he’s just like his manipulative father? Or worse, looking for mistakes to prove he is unworthy of the esteem and trust Harry has in him? That's Ron even after years of working with the man, being his friend, and even having in his wedding!”  
  
It stung.  
  
While the Ministry and Shacklebolt pushed most Death Eaters through quick, highly publicized trials to give a grieving and bloodthirsty population the body count they demanded, Malfoy and his parents sat in Azkaban awaiting their trials for nearly a year after the Battle of Hogwarts. Kingsley never said, but Hermione always thought that particular maneuver served two purposes of equal interest to the Minister. First, it allowed the Malfoys to be punished and worn away, further diminishing the once illustrious family while they waited. Second, it gave the defense time to organize the narrative they wanted to tell. The team of wizards and witches who took on the Malfoy family (and therefore benefitted from the Malfoy fortune) needed that time to bring Harry and Hermione in to give their testimony. While Lucius only had Narcissa and Draco to speak on his behalf and testify to the conditions the entire family was subjected to, Narcissa and Draco benefitted from Harry Potter’s forthright retelling of how Narcissa lied to Voldemort in a move that ultimately led to Harry being able to face-off with Voldemort directly and be victorious. Hermione took the stand and recounted their treatment at Malfoy manor.

> _Yes, we were held captive beneath the drawing room..._ _  
> __… I don’t think the family had much say over what happened at that point…_
> 
> _Bellatrix appeared to be able to overrule her sister and Lucius. Yes, well, I assumed she was considered more loyal…_
> 
> _… Lucius wanted to turn us over to save his own skin. He didn’t appear well. That wasn’t fair of me, he was desperate to save his family as well as himself._
> 
> _… Draco knew exactly who we were. I’ve absolutely no doubt about that, but he chose to pretend otherwise and did not identify us._
> 
> _… Surely you can appreciate that “maybe” served a purpose in such a situation. Surrounded by Death Eaters, Legilimency was a real concern. Indecision is easier to cover than an outright lie. I believe other testimony put forward established that the whole Malfoy family is well versed in Legilimency and Occlumency. Snape taught Harry, so I assume, as Draco’s Godfather, he did the same for Draco.  
> _ _  
> __… I do. I do believe that Draco Malfoy is capable of contrition and rehabilitation.  
>  Unequivocally.  
>   
> _

_  
_But Ginny was correct, of course. It was one thing to say Draco Malfoy could be trusted to make good and wholly another to work across from him day in and day out and trust he wasn’t up to any nefarious deeds. The Wizengamot sentenced Lucius to ten years in Azkaban and stripped him of his property. Narcissa was sentenced to eighteen months, with credit for time served, and five years of probation; her property similarly stripped. Draco was sentenced to thirteen months in jail, with credit for time served, and two years of probation. Upon the successful completion of his probation he was legally proclaimed the head of the Malfoy family and inherited the family’s legacy companies. Up until that moment though, all property was held by a custodian: Andromeda Tonks.  
  
Hermione splashed cold water on her face and patted her skin dry. Before Malfoy came to work in her office, she’d never had cause to monopolize the Ladies’ restroom, but now this was such a regular concern that Hermione ended up using a spell in the morning to keep her makeup in place. _What is the matter with you?_ her reflection seemed to be asking.   
  
Draco had to complete his Ministry-mandated probation in the Ministry. He completed his service working in International Magical Cooperation where rumor had it he toiled away filing contracts and organizing files without the aid of magic. If the public expected him to slink off into the night once his debts to society were paid, they were disappointed. Upon completing his probation, Draco appealed directly to Kingsley for a special dispensation in order to pursue training as an Auror. With that granted, he’d been working his way through the ranks steadily. Until about three months ago, when he’d faltered in a mission. Hermione wasn’t certain of the specifics, just knew that even Ron wasn’t willing to talk about it and normally, despite their friendship, he was the first one ready with a story of Malfoy’s shortcomings. All she knew was that Draco was sent home on enforced convalescence for a few weeks. When he came back, he was no longer an Auror. He was reassigned to Hermione’s department, Corporate Services. She had no doubt he’d found the transition lowering.  
  
When Hermione reentered their office, she was relieved to see the now familiar sight of Theo Nott leaning against her desk as he talked to Draco.  
“Good morning, Theo,” she chirped with a smile.  
“Hello, hello,” he returned, cheerfully. “What do you say, Granger, care to join us for lunch? We’re flooing to Paris.”  
She and Theo had once had a spectacularly bad date together, years ago, and since had become rather friendly. Theo worked as an Investigator within the Auror department. While Aurors were trained in investigation,they were also experts at defense and infiltration. Investigators were strictly support staff working within the office and never in the field. After the Battle of Hogwarts, with Auror numbers severely depleted, the Ministry had created the secondary designation of Investigator to relieve some of the duties of the then tiny Auror force.  
“Thank you, but I’m really going to have to work through lunch today, I’m afraid.”

Theo rolled his eyes. “Again? That’s ridiculous.” This statement wasn’t directed at Hermione, but to Draco, which she thought quite odd. Unless Nott was commenting on Draco’s habits?  
“Draco works a bit faster than me,” she offered. “So you see, he’s capable of flooing to France on his lunch break. I just take a bit more care with my work.” _Shit._ _  
_“Are you serious,” Draco growled. In a fit of pique, he waved his hand over his desk to wandlessly obscure the documents from Hermione’s prying eyes. She felt another wave of dizziness wash through her as he walked away from them and out into the hall.

“Oh very well done, Granger,” Theo said drily. “This is sure to be a very pleasant meal now. Thanks for that.”  
\----

Draco came striding back into the room fifty-four minutes later and tossed a take out container on Hermione’s desk.  
“You could have ruined these!” she exclaimed as she moved the box to the side and carefully gathered her documents together. ‘Wait, what’s this?”  
“Take-out, Granger.”  
“Oh, thank y--”  
“From Theo,” he said with an exasperated huff as he resumed his place at his desk. 

“Of course it is.”   
  
There was once a time she was able to partake in civil conversations with Malfoy. It was a slow growing thing, the sense of friendship between them built over the last few years. However, since returning to work and being reassigned, he was shutdown. Malfoy has never been a particularly open sort of person, but now it was as if he held himself away from everyone else and existed on a different plane. He was no longer the wizard who bought the first round on Friday nights, or gave up his seat for her when the bar was overcrowded. Where there had once been a tentative back and forth, there was now silence. Hermione felt too wrong-footed every time she tried to broach the silence between them and had eventually stopped trying.   
  
They passed the rest of the day in silence, each reviewing their own sets of contracts. It was mind numbing work for the most part. With Lucius out of the way in Azkaban, it appeared that most companies and corporations were following the letter of the law these days; Hermione was pleased to note that this included the Malfoy legacy holdings.   
  
Day after day, it was contract reviews and approvals or denials of requests. This was not the environment Hermione ever pictured herself flourishing in and if one had asked her where she’d be nearly a decade after the final battle, she probably wouldn’t have replied with “sharing a tiny office, and a mountain of monotonous paperwork with Draco Malfoy.” The first advantage of this tepid job and the reason she’d sought it out in the first place was that Hermione could usually work nine to five and maintain time outside of work for her personal life (consisting mostly of books at the moment) and experimental projects (sigh, all on the back burner). The second advantage was that being part of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, even if it was the absolute dullest part, gave her slightly better access to Harry and Ron who now numbered amongst the departments top Aurors and were therefore in high demand and regularly were “away on business.”   
  
It was a sore point with Hermione that despite their unpredictable schedules and high pressures of their careers, both had found themselves quite happily ensconced in matrimony and family. Harry and Ginny had been married eight years, had a home inhabited by two little girls and, quite frequently Teddy and and Andromeda, as well. Ron and Hermione had fizzled out the summer after the final battle and, after years of dating, he’d married Susan Bones last year in a beautiful ceremony.  
  
“Granger!” Malfoy called.  
She blinked hard; she’d lost time again. It was happening more frequently these days. She looked up to see Draco leaning over her desk, his hands planted firmly on the contract in front of her, and staring her down.  
“What?” she asked. The air smelled acrid and there was a lilac hazy quality to the room.  
“Granger,” he said carefully, “how long precisely has your magic been out of control?  
  
  
  
  



	2. Chapter Two

  
Chapter Two  
  


“Just walk us through it again one more time,” Potter said.  
“Slowly,” Weasley gritted out. They were gathered in a private waiting room in St. Mungo's while the DMLE assigned healers were running diagnostics on Hermione.  
Draco growled deeply as he ran his fingers through his hair in frustration; he could feel the others react.  
“The hell was that?” Weasley exclaimed. Potter eyed Draco cautiously. _Brilliant._ Draco paced about the room. 

“She ate lunch at her desk while continuing to work through the Cacklethorpe Holdings documents-- from what I can gather, they are a complete shitshow-- and I was reviewing Bankhurst filing that was returned to us -- for completely bullshit reasons-- and I looked up when I realized it was too quiet and she was just… gone.”

“When did it start?” Potter asked.  
“I’ve already told you, I don’t know. I dropped lunch on her desk and settled in to do my job; which actually is not to babysit your Wonder Girl--” At this, Potter scoffed. “--I recall glancing up once when she was shuffling things about in a truly obnoxious way, and then not again until I realized something was wrong.”  
“Which was a couple hours after you returned from going to _bloody France_ for lunch, was it?” Weasley asked. Draco sighed heavily and nodded.  
  


“Never mind that, Ron,” Potter said. “What do you mean ‘gone’? You said before she was too quiet.”  
“The room was quiet. Or still, rather. Too still. That is what drew my attention. It was an absence. When I looked at Hermione--” at this both men shot him looks, one furious and one smug, “--it was as though she were … vacant. She wasn’t there and the purple mist stuff was already hovering around her.”  
“Which is when you started calling her name and trying to snap her out if it?” Potter asked. Draco nodded. “It took too long. I kept calling her name, and the mist seemed to react to me. That’s when the smell started. I think it was the mist trying to keep me away from her. She couldn’t hear me. It wasn’t until I was in her space, within that purple shit, that she responded. 

“How can a person be empty?” Weasley asked. It was a sign of just how concerned he was that there wasn’t a single sign of an impending sneer. Draco sat on the edge of one of the armchairs, his hands fisted in case his control broke, and his knuckles digging into his temples.  
“I don’t know,” he bit out. His heart had not stopped racing unevenly since the moment he looked up and saw Granger’s body slumped in her seat. Idly, he wondered if someone knew his secret and cursed Granger as a way of cursing him. He glanced around the room and tried to calculate how much his mother would have to pay to rectify the damage he would cause if he were to now lose Granger and go feral. 

“Malfoy,” Potter said, “Thank you for bringing her here and alerting us.” Draco rolled his eyes.  
“Basic decency is hardly worthy of praise,” he said.  
“It is when it is coming from you,” Weasley said. “How do we know you didn’t curse Hermione? Or maybe it was the food. It’d be only too easy for you to have tampered with it.”  
Draco swore every muscle in his body contracted in that moment; a searing pain shot throughout his back. His eyes met Potter's.  
“No Ron,” Potter said. “It’d be all too easy for someone to tamper with the food assuming it was Malfoy’s. If this is because of the food, it was meant for him.”  
Faintly Draco felt an echo of emotion, he was desperately trying to use Occlumency to distance himself from what was unfolding, but that echo sent a seizure of pain through his chest. _Anguish._ _  
__  
__\--------_

“Well, Ms. Granger, you are a complicated case,” Healer Jones said tightly. They were seated in the Healer’s office. Hermione was in the standard St. Mungo's patient robes and seated in a rather uncomfortable chair across from Healer Jones’ desk. The Healer was a stern witch in her mid-to-late forties, with dark skin and her hair twisted back in a severe twist. “There is no curse we can find, no poison in your system or on the remains of your lunch, and you appear to be the picture of good health except for one small thing.”  
Hermione clasped her hands together nervously; as she sat there, she felt she was in danger of drifting off. How, where, and why were all reasonable but ultimately unanswerable questions. And all of this was precisely why Hermione couldn’t answer the Healer’s questions without arousing suspicion. If she told them about her increasing feelings of impending doom, her wandering mind, and increased daydreaming, she would likely be put on medical leave and assigned a Mind Healer. A shudder jerked her shoulders. _Never again._ _  
_“Someone or something is siphoning off your energy. This is impacting your magic: lessening it and making it react with volatility. Your magic register was one of the highest I’ve ever recorded when I did your entrance physical years ago, and now it has dropped significantly.”  
Hermione blinked furiously, “Yes, that does… feel correct.”  
“These dizzy spells are increasing in frequency. You’ve mentioned struggling to concentrate… that must be enormously frustrating for you.” Healer Jones’ voice held a soft, mothering quality that made Hermione put her back up.  
“I’m fine. It is nothing, really. I just power through.”  
“Until you can’t?” Healer Jones asked. “You wouldn’t be here unless there was a real danger.”  
“I’m here because Malfoy is a prat who overreacted.”  
“Mr. Malfoy was terrified for you,” Healer Jones commented. 

“Agree to disagree and move on, please,” Hermione said. She was desperate to get home. Her head still felt off-kilter, as if one side was significantly heavier than the other.  
“Right well, I am recommending the Auror department go through your office and home thoroughly to look for objects which may carry a curse of some sort that is siphoning your magical core from you and then I am recommending a week off to see if rest can help restore a little of what you’ve lost.”  
“That’s preposterous,” Hermione said weakly. “I have to work.” Healer Jones continued as though she couldn’t hear her lame reasoning. 

“Ms. Granger, even if you spent the next week in bed, I cannot guarantee that it will do anything to increase your core. I can’t guarantee that you won’t continue to grow weaker. By your own admission, your symptoms are increasing in rate.”  
Hermione bit her lip and focused her gaze on the clock on the wall. “What happens if I lose it?”  
“Lose it?”  
“My magical core. If I am successfully depleted, I’m what? A squib?” 

“Dead.” Healer Jones gave her a minute to dwell on that before she said, “Let’s bring your gentlemen in, shall we?”

“And we were having such a perfect-ly love-ly ti-me,” her voice cracked as she tried to get the sentence out. Healer Jones simply handed her a tissue as she walked past Hermione to call in Harry and Ron. To Hermione’s shock, Draco entered with them as well. “I don’t think Malfoy needs to be here for this, ‘Mione,” Ron stated baldly with his hands crossed over his chest, “but if you want him here…?”

She glanced at Draco’s face, but her gaze quickly danced away to look at his dragonhide shoes.  
“I need to be here, because she is, for all intents and purposes, my partner,” the last word came out a bit muffled and gruff. Draco continued, “If she’s going to be skiving off work, I need to know.”  
“You barely work together! Merlin’s left tit, you said yourself she barely even acknowledges you!” Ron blurted. Healer Jones ignored him. 

“Not quite skiving Mr. Malfoy, but yes. Ms. Granger needs to cease work immediately.”

Healer Jones continued to give the men a stark run down of Hermione’s symptoms and what the Healer team believed was happening.   
"You ruled out all poisons? It couldn't have been someone thinking they were getting me and poisoning the food I brought back for her?" Malfoy asked in a rush.   
"There is no sign of poisoning and Miss Granger's symptoms have been going on for awhile now," Healer Jones admitted. Three sets of eyes whipped around to stare at Hermione. Healer Jones continued, "Truly, gentlemen, a siphoning curse is most likely." Hermione picked a smudge on the wall to stare at as Healer Jones continued her debrief. 

“So you’re saying that you cannot find a curse present in _or_ on Hermione, but that someone may be using a nearly undetectable curse? How is that possible?”

“It means the curse is only present as long as the perpetrator is actively engaging in the cursing. It could be someone in the lobby, the lifts, outside on the street. It doesn’t mean she gets better when the caster and the curse are out of proximity, it just means the parts of the curse, the traces, that make it detectable, are weakened so as to be invisible to us and our methods.”  
“And if it is an object?” Ron asked. “If it were on her, you’d be able to tell right? Surely, that wouldn't be undetectable.”

“Correct Mr. Weasley, but not all cursed objects are worn like jewelry, though, as Aurors, that is likely what you are most familiar with. Sometimes it is something simple that is touched or held regularly. I once saw a case where an estranged husband cursed his wife’s pillow. Actually, Mr. Malfoy, wasn’t that case one of yours? Nasty business.” 

Harry cleared his throat, ”Right well, immediate steps. Hermione is an invalid for the immediate future, and we need a strike team to investigate her office and flat.”

Ron cracked his neck and added, “Probably need to go through our places, too.” At Hermione’s glance he added, “How many nights a week do you end up stopping by one of ours? If it is an object, could it have been cursed to only impact Hermione, to only react to her magical signature?”

“ _Fuck,”_ Malfoy whispered.  
“Yeah, mate,” Harry said. Malfoy stood and started pacing behind them. Harry continued, “Hermione, you cannot go home until we know what precisely is going on. Neither of you can go back to your office, and you cannot stay with anyone you would usually stay with, because whoever is doing this to you may very well have infiltrated one of our homes.”  
“Harry that’s absurd! Your home and mine are warded to the gills. How do you suppose someone would ‘infiltrate’ them?”  
“The children,” Malfoy said. He stopped pacing. Harry turned to look at him and they shared a look of horror. “The children,” Malfoy continued. “It would only be too easy for someone to gain access to their school bags as they’re going back and forth to day school. They could have brought the object home.”

Harry’s face was ashen, “It could even happen at school.”  
Ron raked his hand through his hair. “Matilda, we always call her--”

“Niffler,” Hermione supplied flatly. Harry and Ginny’s youngest had a penchant for collecting objects. She was getting better about recognizing when “collecting” was truly “stealing,” but when it came to the detritus of everyday life she had a compulsion: spare coins on the ground, quills left on a desk, empty inkwells, shells, polished pebbles, and even once a small potted plant had made their way into the Potter household thanks to Matilda. 

Hermione rubbed her face vigorously, it all felt like too much. “Healer Jones, with all respect, how likely is any of this? How certain are you that this is even what is actually happening? I understand that you believe the siphoning of my magic is happening, but how sure are you regarding objects or proximity curses?”

Healer Jones sighed, “Not very, but even then, it is the best chance we’ve got.”

Ron and Malfoy went back to the Ministry to alert Robards and get the ball rolling on a strike team and to alert Justinia Pilliwickle, the Head of the DMLE, that Hermione would need to be put on emergency leave while Malfoy would need to move to work from home for the duration.  
Harry and Hermione were shown back the private waiting room and Harry called for Kreature to bring him a lapdesk and his family’s owl, a plain Barn owl named Jonas. Harry wrote messages to Ginny and Susan to alert them to leave work if possible so that they could be present when the searches would be carried out in their homes, and sent Jonas on. He then called Kreacher back and started a third letter.  
“Who is that for?” Hermione asked from where she was curled up in an armchair. Harry made a mental note that it was the same chair Malfoy sought out earlier.  
“Narcissa. Kreacher is a Black family elf and has privileges at the Manor, ” he replied.  
“That poor woman, they aren’t going to raid her too, are they?” Hermione asked; suddenly she sat up looking scared, “They’re going to think it’s Draco aren't they?”

“No,” Harry said, evenly. "I’ve told you, Hermione. He’s genuine and more than that, he’s a bloody good Auror.” 

“If he’s so good, why was he reassigned?” she asked.  
“That’s not my story to tell, but I will tell you his reassignment isn’t really a punishment.”  
“Ha! Oh Harry, I _chose_ my job and even I know it is absolutely a punishment.”  
He lifted his quill from the parchment to turn to her. “I didn’t realize you were so unhappy.”

“I’m not.” He looked at her in disbelief. “Really,” she continued, “just ...stagnant, I suppose.” She glanced away from Harry. “Anyway, if you don’t think the Manor will be raided, why are you writing her?”

Harry scratched out a final sentence and scrawled his sloppy initials at the bottom before answering her, “I’m requesting a favor.”

“I wasn’t aware you needed a charity ball,” Hermione mused.  
“Hilarious. No, I need a safe house for you.” He waited for it to sink in.  
“Absolutely not. You know she doesn’t care for me,” she said, slightly panicked. 

“Hermione, this is life or death. And while I truly don’t quite believe she doesn’t like you, I do know she’s grown quite fond of me,” he said with a wink. Hermione rolled her eyes. Draco had saved Harry’s life an impressive number of times and Hermione knew Harry had saved Draco right back an equal if not greater number of times. Narcissa Malfoy would never be Hermione’s ideal of modern womanhood or even motherhood, but her devotion to her son was complete.  
  
“Kreacher, please take this to Miss Narcissa and tell her it is most urgent,” Harry instructed gravely. Kreacher mumbled and groused as much as he ever did, but he would do his duty in this matter. With a crack he was gone.  
“Can’t I stay a Grimmauld?” Hermione asked. Harry and Ginny had moved out of Grimmauld once their first daughter, Lilyana, was born. These days Grimmauld was used for reunions and meetings almost exclusively.  
“Oh yes, brilliant idea, Hermione. I’ll leave you to Kreacher’s tender mercies shall I?” To be fair to Harry, Kreacher had only just stopped calling Hermione a mudblood every time she entered a room the year before. “And anyway, if ever there was a place chock full of cursed objects...“ 

Hermione sighed. He was right. Any cursed objects the Malfoy’s were confiscated in the many intense “random” raids the ministry had insisted on while Draco and Narcissa were still on probation.  
A loud crack announced Kreacher’s sudden reappearance with Mrs. Malfoy. Hermione jerked to her feet and stumbled slightly at the sudden change in position. “Mrs. Malfoy,” she bowed her head awkwardly. Narcissa was resplendent in sage robes that shimmered with silver under the glaring lights of the St. Mungos; she was still quite a vital woman and was aging gracefully.  
“Miss Granger, I am so sorry to hear of your … _convalescence.”_ She glanced questioningly at Harry. “Harry, I trust you are well?” Narcissa addressed Harry, but her neck craned around the room taking it in. Looking for her son. Adjusting to life as an Auror’s mother had not come easily to Narcissa. Hermione had heard Harry comment on it in a offhand sort of way to Ginny, usually as a way of excusing Malfoy for not returning with Harry and Ron to the Burrow for one of Mrs. Weasley’s post-mission home cooked meals. _“Gin, you know Narcissa was probably worrying herself sick at home alone all week.”_  
  
“Indeed. We just need to know Hermione is someplace safe while she and Draco are out of their office.”

“He’ll be working from home then?” Narcissa asked. Harry nodded. “Where is he now?” she asked. “Taking care of a few things at work, making sure Justinia Pilliwickle understands the necessity of all of this.” Narcissa nodded and seemed to find new resolve.  
“Well then, Miss Granger, let’s get you someplace homier than this,” she said with a smile. Hermione blanched as Narcissa continued,. “Draco has a lovely property with plenty of space he purchased recently. I’m sure that will do nicely.”

“Oh, no, I don’t want to impose on Draco,” Hermione said awkwardly. “I don’t actually want to impose on anybody, but he already has to deal with me all day at work-” at this Narcissa’s eyebrows shot up, “-- it really isn’t fair to him!”

“Even if that is the case,” Narcissa said, “I think you’d find this property far better suited to your rest than the Manor.” 

Hermione swallowed. There was a reason she was the only one of them who had never attended a Malfoy gala that was hosted at the Manor. Even Ron went to most of the fundraisers, though Ginny told her he spent most of the time standing in a corner monitoring the room for “suspicious activity.” All these years later and Hermione still woke up, jaw clenched around a silenced scream, and the ghost of splinters from the drawing room floor ripping up the skin beneath her fingernails.  
“Well, I think it sounds perfect,” Harry offered. “Is Kreacher able to apparate you both there?”  
Narcissa nodded in reply and before Hermione could quite grasp what was happening she felt the compression and twisting of side-along apparition and then… nothing.


	3. Chapter Three

Chapter 3

  
  
They were slightly delayed in locating Pilliwickle as she was in a Department Heads meeting with Minister Shacklebolt regarding a bill. Shacklebolt’s secretary, a good-looking young man known to usually be quite amenable and understanding when it came to the requests of young, famous, and attractive Aurors, held firm in refusing them entry to the Minister’s office. That was all well and good, but when he similarly refused to merely inform the Minister of their presence Draco felt the walls of his control slip and his hands _clench_. Weasley was not quite read in on Draco’s current challenges. He, like the rest of the Aurors save Potter, thought Draco was being reassigned temporarily as a punishment for a fuck-up. As Draco felt bones shift in his hands, he shoved them in the pockets of his robes.  
_Breathe. Focus on the wall. Nothing in. Nothing out. Nothing. Focus._ Even after all these years, Severus’s voice came back to him through Occlumency. 

Weasley saved the day, and the handsome secretary, by sending a Patronus through the door. It was yanked open within seconds.  
“This had better be important Mr. Weasley,” Shacklebolt had glowered. “Or I will have to re-educate you on the exact meaning of a ‘closed meeting.’”

As Weasley explained the severity of the situation and Pilliwickle was called out of the meeting to discuss the details, Draco tried to channel some of the adrenaline coursing through his veins towards a useful purpose. 

_We need to wait. The numbers may still turn around. This would undo generations of progress!_

_Hogwarts has their lowest numbers on record this year!_

_Well, can you blame them? Things were looking a bit dicey eleven years and nine months ago…_

_The numbers will continue to decline._

_The numbers will self correct- we are talking about taking away free will!_ _  
_  
_We still have extremists to contend with. Not everyone is so perfectly reformed._ This was said with a knowing nod toward the doorway where Draco was easily seen over the Minister’s shoulder. 

_Extremists are just another argument for the Law. Its two hippogriffs with one Avada,_ _  
_ _  
Lovely turn of phrase, Michaels. I mean really!_

_If they don’t want to get married for the good of all Wizarding kind, then they can renounce their citizenship, turn in their wand, and leave._

  
Pilliwickle approved Draco’s work from home request, Granger’s emergency leave, and sent them on their way telling Weasley that, at least for tonight, he was in charge of calling the shots and should personally oversee the inspection of the shared office, Potter’s house, and (in a shocking disregard for protocol) his own home. Weasley was stunned.  
  
“What’s so bloody important he’d make a rookie mistake like that?” he asked.  
“That Marriage and Family Law seems like it may be in play again,” Draco supplied.  
“That’s impossible. That thing’s been argued down time and again. No one wants their love life dictated by the Ministry.” Weasley shook his head. “No, that can’t be it.”  
“It is. I, um, could hear a bit of it. The one closest to the door had their notes out all over the place.”  
“An emergency meeting for an act that’s failed multiple times?”  
“Yeah,” Draco swallowed and checked his walls. _Nothing in. Nothing out.  
_ “That’s ominous. You don’t think they’re…” Weasley trailed off.  
“Yeah, they’re going to try to force it through.”  
“Without a vote?”  
“No, they probably won’t need to go around the whole Wizengamot. They just need to block counter-arguments and they’ll have it cinched.”  
“Seems like we don’t have any time at all if that’s the case,” Weasley mused.  
Draco swallowed back bile, his stomach roiling and spots floating across his vision. The sound of his shoes clacking against the marble of the hallway leading back to the DMLE echoed and grated against his eardrums.  
  
_Nothing in._ _  
  
_

Weasley said, “When Hermione realizes they're going after this again, she’s going to go utterly mental. I told her she should take it more seriously the last time it was up for arguments, you know?”  
  
_Nothing out._  
  
“...like show a proper interest in dating and getting herself settled; she swore the Ministry was just making a ‘tempest in a teacup,’ that she had the bill handled, and to mind my business if you can believe that.”  
  
In the moment, Draco quite agreed. Weasley continued, “I honestly think she’s naive, you know? A bit foolish really.” Draco felt his still pocketed and clenched fists shudder as his talons escaped and sliced into his palms. Weasley turned to look at him in surprise and said, “Blimey, mate. Guess it’s the same for you. Hey, is Greengrass still single? Though I guess that doesn’t dilute the blood...You should ask ‘Mione to set you up with some of her friends.”  
Draco fought against an ancient instinct telling him to shove his fist through Weasley’s throat when his vision went black and, shuddering, he fell to his knees.  
  
“Malfoy? What are you doing?” Weasley asked dumbly.  
_Oh, oh fuck. Why is this happening?_ _  
_ “Inspecting the flooring, Weasley. Thinking of redoing the lake house.” _Why is this happening now? I’m supposed to have more time._ His stomach rolled and he choked back a mouthful of bile. _Nothing in! Nothing out!_

“You have a lake house.” Weasley’s voice had that obnoxious flat quality it always took on whenever he was too tired to be annoyed with Malfoy or thought he saw perfectly through his bullshit. 

“The lake house, Weasel. Lake Cuomo.” _Why can’t I breathe?_  
“Getting up any time soon, Lake House?” Weasley asked.  
_God this is lowering._ _  
_ “Can’t quite manage that, Weasel. I seem to be a bit, uh- a bit blind at the moment.”

“Hilarious, arsehole. C’mon, let’s go. I’ve got a ridiculously long night ahead of me and I need to call Susan on the floo.”

“Then I suggest you help me get the fuck out of here,” Draco bit out. He tried to get his legs steady beneath him in order to stand. Weasley yanked him up gracelessly. Light dotted his vision. A promising sign.

“Weasley, I would like to take this moment to remind you that you still have your left testicle thanks to my quick thinking in that cursed bog in Ghent and then I am going to request you take me to my home. Okay?” Draco was met with silence, but Weasley was still firmly latched to his arm. “Okay. _Ron,_ when you and Susan settle into popping out tiny baby weasels - Weasleys- you will have me and your still intact left testicle to thank on that occasion. With that happy future in mind, would you _please get me the fuck home_ .”  
  
Draco knew that there are undoubtedly worse things than being physically vulnerable in front of other people (like say, being emotionally vulnerable), but he was hard pressed to recall it in the moment.  
“Merlin, you called me Ron.” Draco couldn’t be sure, but the other man’s voice sounded astonished. “Yeah, guess we better get you back. Can I apparate you there?”  
“I’m a Death Eater and an Auror Weasley, so sure, please just go right ahead and apparate on to my fucking property.”  
“Fine. Is your floo connected to the office?”  
Draco sighed. “There’s no floo in Granger’s broom cupboard. Go to my -- Potter’s office.”  
“How about a ‘please,’ Ferret,” Weasley mumbled, but he mumbled it as he marched Draco onward toward the floo.  
  
\---------

Hermione woke to a throbbing feeling moving throughout her body. It was traveling about her body with a physical widening and contracting to a point before it moved on and widened again. Each widening of the feeling brought with it pain and a feeling of intense nausea.  
“Stop, please,” she tried to say, but the feeling continued and she felt certain her jaw was locked tight, so she must not have spoken the words after all.  
“You were right to call me,” a husky, accented woman said, it sounded distant but the presence felt close and Hermione wondered if she'd lost the plot completely.  
The woman continued, “Their symptoms are wrong. How long are they together during the week?”  
“They are together nearly the whole day. They have desks across from one another.” _Mrs. Malfoy!_

“Then this diagnostic spell is giving me nothing we can work with, the presence between them isn’t registering at all.” The throbbing pain stopped; Hermione was blessedly numb.  
“The healers at St. Mungos--” the husky voice snorted, but Narcissa went on, “-- they’re concerned there may be a siphoning curse at work. Either proximity or an object.”  
“It could be, but it wouldn’t explain what’s missing. Any reason for her to be cursed?”  
“She’s Hermione Granger. She’s been a target for years. Draco would come home absolutely ranting about the death threats she received.”  
“A siphoning curse takes quite a skilled hand to achieve; I cannot think of a single person still living who would be capable of it frankly.”  
Mrs. Malfoy sighed, “But we’ve been surprised before.”  
“That we have.”  
Hermione blinked and squinted wondering if it was a usual side effect of dying a slow, cursed death to be so acutely aware of how she simply could not feel her eyebrows as she tried to wiggle them. 

“Hermione, how are you feeling?” Narcissa leaned over her and placed the soft back of her hand against the young woman’s forehead. Her grey eyes were so like her son’s in form, but foreign in demeanor. She appeared _gentle_ in a way Hermione wasn’t sure she knew the other woman to be capable of being. Fierce, brave, contained, polished, yes, she knew Narcissa Malfoy to be all of those.

Gentleness from Narcissa Malfoy was just too much.  
  
“Don’t cry, dear. You just had a little scare. Apparition was simply too taxing. I’ll be having a word with Healer Jones about that, but you’re here now and we shan’t need to bother with apparating about any time soon.”  
Hermione turned away and tried to get her wayward tears under control without much success.  
“And if anyone can fix this mess, dear, I’d say it’s Draco and Harry.”  
  


Just then raised voices came from the hall. On instinct, Hermione tried to sit up and reach for her wand, but it wasn’t on the bedside table next to her. The door flew open and she tried to roll to the floor for cover; she would have done too, but the other woman with Mrs. Malfoy grabbed Hermione’s shoulder and forced her back down until she was staring into the face of an unknown witch.   
“Sorry dear, can’t have you breaking anything on top of everything else,” she said. This woman was much older than Narcissa; she wore a headscarf tied atop her head and she had a face that gave Hermione the impression of time itself, if time had an iron grip. Just as suddenly as she’d grabbed Hermione, she released her, winked and disapparated with a soft _crack_ of magic.  
Hermione now stared at the ceiling of a four poster bed that had been charmed to reflect the night sky; she heard a door open.  
  
  
“Are the walls grey and everything else midnight blue,” she heard the strained voice of Draco Malfoy ask.  
“Yes?” It was Ron and he sounded quite put out. “I know you can’t see it, but it seems that the bed is already occupied.” At this, Hermione flushed positively crimson. She sat up slower this time and shifted herself against the bed’s outrageous number of pillows into an impression of sitting up. 

“Weasel, if you don’t get me to my fucking bed in the next ten seconds I will not be held accountable for what I do to you.”  
Ron stared at Hermione humorlessly. 

“Does your bed happen to have a charm on the canopy to reflect back the constellations to you?” Hermione asked, sweetly.  
“Oh, fuck this day!” Draco yelled.  
“Draco! Language,” his mother admonished. 

“Excellent, it is a party. Bloody fantastic. I am blind. The Ministry is going to pass that stupid fucking act. And I have a bed full of Granger and my _mother_ .”  
Hermione giggled.  
“Granger,” he growled in warning.  
“Do stop, Malfoy,” she grinned. “This is hilarious. I really am dying, you know? I mean Harry Potter enlists Narcissa Malfoy to be my caretaker, then she tells me the safest place for me is her son’s house, I lose consciousness, because I can no longer handle _side-along apparition performed by a House Elf,_ and now it turns out I’ve literally been delivered to the bed of Draco Malfoy, my childhood nemesis.” She sighed, “This is a much funnier death than I ever could have imagined, and I’ve imagined it quite a bit over the years.”

Silence greeted her.  
“Hermione,” Ron started, but whatever he wanted to say he swallowed down. His eyes glimmered with unshed tears.  
“Weasley,” Draco said quietly, “take me to the foot of the bed.” Ron guided him to the corner and placed one of Draco’s hands on the post so he could orient himself. “Granger, you are not going to die. Stop being dramatic. I despise it.” Hermione laughed in response, which only served to darken his mood. “Now,” he said, “What is this about losing consciousness?”


	4. Chapter Four

Chapter Four  
  
  


“Granger, you are not going to die. Stop being dramatic. I _despise_ it.” Hermione laughed in response, which only served to darken his mood. “Now,” he said, “What is this about losing consciousness?” His eyes stared in her direction, but he could feel the creature inside him clawing to see her, to touch her and to know in the depth of his being she was whole and healthy. But of course she wasn’t. She would never end up in Draco’s bed in the normal course of things; it was only at death’s door that she was here as an act of desperation.  
  
“Well, darling,” his mother called his attention away, “it seems the strain of side-along with Kreacher was a bit much. I suspect it is the coarse nature of his magic.” Draco could practically hear the gears in his mother’s mind churning.  
  
“You should have had him fetch Misty,” he said.  
  
“Still a house elf’s magic, dear,” he could hear the hint of bite beneath her placid voice.  
  
“What would you suggest in future?” he asked.  
  
“I think she’s angling for you to open your wards to her,” Granger offered, the earlier traces of laughter still present. He wondered what her smile looked like just then; tired, in repose against his pillows, her hair fanning out against them…  
  
“Indeed, I am, Miss Granger,” Narcissa said. “Well, Draco?”

He’d kept his mother out so she could not interfere when he was at his weakest, so she could not compel his mate to his side. What excuse was there now? He sighed heavily.

“Malfoy!” Granger exclaimed,” You cannot be serious. She’s your mother!”

 _Fuck._ _  
_ “Yes, yes,” Draco waved a hand. “I’ll change the wards… once I can see again.” There, that seemed reasonable, and really, on the bright side, he may never see again. “Weasley?” he called over his shoulder.   
“Yeah, still here.”

“If you discover _anything_ in the searches tonight--”

“I’ll send my patronus. Immediately.” His voice was grave. 

“You have my thanks,” Draco replied with equal gravity.

“Malfoy,” Weasley said, “Anything happens to her--”

Draco shot a baleful look at him, “Anything happens to her, Weasley, it will be my life and you’ll have to exercise your ire elsewhere.”

He waited until he heard Weasley’s footsteps fade as he traveled back down the hallway toward the fireplace in the traveling room. He scrubbed his hands over his face and leaned back against the bedpost. He could sense his mother still standing across the room and he could feel the slight dip of the mattress that indicated Granger.   
In his bed.   
His mother had much to answer for.   
  
“How do you feel now?” he asked. It came out gentler than he was comfortable with. 

“Me?” Granger asked, surprised. “I am as fine as I was before I fainted, but you’re blind, Draco, so I rather think I should be asking you how you’re feeling.” She called him by name, but there was no laughter in her voice now.  
  
  
\---  
  
  
Draco looked wan, worn around the edges. His eyes gazed emptily at the wall behind her shoulder; his brows furrowed in concentration. 

“Not entirely certain what happened. I was just walking back from Shacklebolt’s office and … the world shuttered. Could be that whoever is cursing you was really trying for me all along. If that’s the case, I am terribly sorry, Granger.”  


Hermione didn’t know how to reply to that.  
  
“Mother, would you be so kind as to escort me to my room. It appears Weasley cannot take direction.”

“But you told him--” Hermione started.

“Granger, I shall send my elf Misty to you to help you settle in.”

“But--”

“Please,” he said with a mocking tone, “resist the urge to present her with my laundry. She is already a free elf and she really doesn’t care for seeing to my laundry.”

Hermione was shocked and said nothing as she watched Narcissa walk around to the other side of the bed to put her arm out to lead Draco. 

“Miss Granger, “ Narcissa said, as they reached the door, “I’ll be staying here until my darling only son updates his wards, as he so graciously promised to do, so have Misty fetch me if you have any questions or you're not feeling quite well.” Hermione nodded her agreement.   
  
Minutes later an elf popped her head around the corner and blinked at Hermione with enormous wet eyes and a tremulous smile. Her skin was a bronzed green and her eyes were an electrifying blue. Her dress appeared to be something one may find in a little girls section of a muggle department store; it was light blue and the skirt had three ruffles.   
  
“Missus?” she asked in a low voice, as if Hermione may be sleeping though she could clearly see she was not. 

“Yes, are you Misty?” Hermione asked, kindly. 

“Indeed, Missus.” Misty bowed deeply and Hermione felt a pang as she recalled Dobby’s reverence for Harry and his friends. 

“I was wondering--” Hermione said, but misty held her hand up.

“Master Draco, says I should answer your questions, as long as they are not being too impertinent, but first we must gets you ready.”

“Ready for what?”

“Bed.”

Hermione was now firmly in “perplexed” territory. She watched as Misty marched about the room snapping her fingers at a large armoire and guiding various belongings on the desk to put themselves away. Once she was satisfied, Misty hauled open the armoire and began removing clothing from it. She tossed what Hermione would only describe as a smoking jacket towards the bed, and the item righted itself. Next came a flurry of moss green satin and a pair of delicate, ladies fur lined slippers. 

“Misty, I was under the impression this was Master Draco’s room,” she said as she eyed the bundle of satin. 

“Yes, Missus,” Misty replied as she walked over to the wall nearest Hermione and pushed open the door to the bathroom.

“Does the Master entertain women quite frequently then?”

“Never, Missus,” Misty replied.  
  
“What is all this then?”   
  
Misty had wandered into the bathroom and Hermione could hear the sounds of taps filling a bathtub, but at this she came back to stand in the doorway and gaze at Hermione like she was a particularly stupid witch.

“They’re your’s, Missus.” Misty said. “Now, is you wanting to get yourself to the tub or should Misty get you there?”

“I’m coming,” Hermione said. Misty was quite a managing little elf. 

Hermione sank back into the bubbles of the bath with a deep sigh; how long had it been since she’d felt comforted? The warmth seeped into her bones and her head felt clearer. Misty continued her snapping of fingers and rearranging of items. Soon she had a set of witches products lined up by the sink furthest from the door. The other sink, Hermione noted, appeared to be utterly devoid of personality.

“Misty, what have you done with all of Mal-Master Draco’s things?”

“They are now in the green guest room’s bathroom, Missus.”

_Indeed._

“And his clothes are there now as well?” Misty hummed an affirmative reply. “Why doesn’t he have me move to the guestroom?” _And why did Narcissa put me in this one?_

“You belongs here, Missus,” Misty stated firmly, before adding, “and it is not for Misty to question Master Draco… much.”

Hermione grinned fondly. Her life, while not particularly great yesterday, had certainly become strangely intriguing today. “Misty, may I ask you some of my impertinent questions now?”

“Of course, Missus.”

“How did you come to be a free elf?” she asked. She knew from her work at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures that the stories of elves were often sad, but free elves frequently had the worst stories.

“My master, my old master, was a b-b-bad man. Young Master Nott was kind, but he was gone at school mostly. It was him that freed me. Once he turned seventeen, he had more family magic and on his birthday he freed me. Gave me his quidditch jersey and shrunk it down so it’d fit me.”

“Was your old master very upset?”

Misty nodded sadly. “Yes, Missus. I heard Master Nott tell Master Draco about it later.” Misty shivered and then righted herself. “Lean forward,” she commanded, and began shampooing Hermione’s hair.   
  
“Where did you go?” Hermione asked. 

“Young Master Theo had arranged for me to stay with Master Draco, but the Bad Wizard was already here, so Misty had to be very quiet and very good.”

“You lived in the Manor with Voldemort?” Hermione was horrified.

“Yes, Missus.” Misty doused her head in water and began on the conditioner. “It was hard, Missus, Misty couldn’t do any of the things that should be done. No cooking, no cleaning. Just the Master Draco’s room at the Manor and that took nothing to do. I was sad, Missus. Bust MAster Draco said it was for the best if no one else knew I was there.”

“That must have been very difficult, Misty.”

“Yes. Master Draco tried to make it better. He tried to teach me to read, and I can read some, he taught me wizard’s chess, but he was sad too.”

Hermione imagined so.

“It was better once Master Draco had here.”

“Here?”

“Our home,” Misty said forcefully. 

“When did you move here?”

“Master Draco is moving here after he got sick.”

“He got sick?” she asked, alarmed. Was Misty referring to one of the times Draco had been cursed by his Aunt or Voldemort?  
  
“Yes, because his awful aunt hurt his friends and Missus.” Hermione’s head was reeling. 

“Misty, who do you mean by that?” Hermione’s question was answered with a wave of water attacking her hair with great force to remove the conditioner. She sputtered.

“Sorry, Missus,” Misty said, as she then smoothed some slick substance into Hermione’s hair and worked it through to the ends. 

  
\---

“You had Donka here?” Draco and Narcissa were seated across from one another in front of the fireplace in the Green Room.

“I thought it a wise course of action once I realized that Kreacher abandoned me here with a passed out Miss Granger.” Her lips were pursed, Draco just knew it.

“She isn’t a healer.”

“She’s better than a healer, and you know it.” Narcissa bit out. “Darling, what if whatever curse is being thrown at her is being complicated by her status? Clearly, the curse that’s targeting her is now targeting you as a side effect of the bond.”

Draco considered this and desperately willed his eyesight back into existence. “I may have been the intended target of a proximity curse and Granger could be suffering as a result, maybe whoever is doing this isn’t as adept as we’re assuming they’d be. 

“Let me call her, Draco. Or at least talk to Severus’s portrait. You cannot go on like this.”

He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes; how odd it felt to only experience it as a physical sensation of lids closing. 

“Draco, my heart, I cannot bear this.”

“The journals say--”

“I know what the journals say!” she snapped. Draco heard the muffled sound of her feet against the carpet as she began to walk about the room. “They say you have until your thirtieth birthday, but it hardly seems that way from where I’m standing. You’ve been suffering needlessly for years!” Her voice had risen and she struggled to regain her composure. “You are doing yourself a disservice. Fine. I cannot make you forgive yourself or like the man you’ve become; I know that now. But think of what you do to her, Draco. By denying the truth of your connection, by denying her the bond you should share, she is less safe, less protected in this world. Do you really think she’d be in the trouble she’s in now if you were bound and you could feel every nuance of her magic, and everyone else’s ill intent toward her?”

Draco squeezed his eyes shut. _Nothing in._ _Nothing out._

Narcissa pulled open the guest room door, and before she shut it quite forcefully with her exit she said, “I’m sending Donka Balakov to you.”   
  


\---

It was damned inconvenient to be the mate of Hermione Jean Granger. Ideally, one’s mate would prefer quiet activities that rarely caused a stir and never inspired death threats. Draco Malfoy had never lived in an ideal world. 

Kingsley, Robards, and Potter had recruited him for quite a few months before Draco agreed. His time in Azkaban finished, his probation complete, he’d been at loose ends, but thought it took an enormous amount of self-assurance to first be a Death Eater and then join the Aurors. In the end, it really only took boredom. Draco missed the structure of a regular work day and being stuck overseeing Malfoy Holdings meant he spent everyday steeped in the fear of disappointing his father -- a feeling he had been so certain he’d have outgrown by then. 

It was his fourth official team meeting that he learned he was going to encounter an unexpected struggle. The meetings up to that point consisted of a distribution of patrol circuits for areas known to be hotbeds of illicit activity (read: Knockturn Alley), the raids were assigned separately, and Draco was still learning on the job after being fast tracked and testing out of most of the training. (“Makes sense. Training is to prepare you for the enemy and bloody Malfoy _was_ the enemy,” Weasley reasoned once, when he didn’t realize Draco was nearby.) They’d all gathered in a conference room; it had been standing room only by the time Draco entered. Hermione’s official employee picture had been blinking and smiling back at him from where it was affixed to the wall at the front of the room. Robards, Potter, and Weasley and stomped in and stood at the front of the room waiting for silence. Robards walked them through the situation: Granger was receiving an increasing number of hostile letters and packages. Her mail was rerouted to the Auror’s office for the foreseeable future. Someone had asked what had changed, because clearly Hermione had always been a target, so why the uptick?  
Draco had followed her career carefully; he scanned the Daily Prophet for references to her before he could settle in to read a single article. During his parole, he’d time his arrival at the Ministry to coincide with hers as close as he could get it. He told himself he had until his thirtieth birthday to figure out how to convince her to choose him; that was an ample amount of time. She was a hero of the Wizarding World, and while he knew not all those with purist sympathies had been locked away in Azkaban, he thought surely Granger was safe. It was the naive belief of a child, it must be this way because for it to be any other way would be a tragedy he could not comprehend. 

Granger had Potter. Granger had McGonagall. For Merlin’s sake, Granger had the Minister of Magic himself. At the end of the list, Granger even had Weasley; how could she ever feel anything other than perfectly safe?   
Robards was putting together a team to be in charge of investigating the threats and looking for volunteers. It seemed as though most were volunteering to be considered as an act of duty or patriotism. Draco kept his head down, but when a parchment was sent around, he wandlessly inscribed his name at the top under Potter and Weasley even as he stood back to allow the Auror beside him to pass it across him. 

Some letters were expected: the same trite bullshit Draco was raised on and had parroted back in Hogwarts. Others were utterly horrifying: lurid, descriptive passages of what would occur to Hermione if she were caught alone after dark. There was a phrase: alone after dark.   
Fear of those three words did more to get Draco back out into society than anything else. He started grabbing a bite to eat in Diagon Alley after work near the places he knew Granger frequented, calling up Theo to see if he wanted to hit a new pub that had opened on just the same night Granger was set to be dining there with Ginny, or stop by Flourish and Blotts for the latest best seller just in case she was stopping by as well. Though he wasn’t sure she knew it, it was through that dedicated Hermione Granger Mail Team that Draco first learned to get along with Potter. (Not Weasley, that would still be a long time coming).   
  
They caught and prosecuted a few lowlifes, and eventually the threats dwindled, but Draco was already used to orbiting Granger at a distance and it kept the creature at bay to know she was safe. 

Donka Balakov had thought he was a stupid being then, and the look she gave him now said her estimation of him had not improved with time. At least he could now clearly _see_ her disapproval, so that was something. 

“This tastes like socks boiled in shite,” he gasped, choking on the concoction she’d given him upon her arrival. 

“Yes,” she said. Donka wasn’t one for carrying on and Draco appreciated her for it, most of the time. “You would rather be blind?”

“Fair. I just can’t believe something this foul _cured_ my blindness rather than caused it.”

“You’re a stupid boy,” she said, in her thick Bulgarian accent.

“Quite,” Draco agreed. He’d learned over the years to just take his lumps where Donka was concerned. “What was that?”

“Replenishment potion.”

“And my name’s Kingsley Shacklebolt,” he quipped.

“A _strong_ replenishment potion,” Donka corrected. “Not like your minty nonsense sold in Diagon Alley.”

“Donka, was that… not quite legal?” he asked. She ignored him, and he supposed that was fair. Donka was his mother’s find: a self-proclaimed expert in the field of Veelas that had been on retainer for a decade since Draco presented at seventeen. Draco thought her advice would ultimately prove useless, because Bulgarian Veelas were all female. And his particular creature was an unusual inheritance even in the world of beasts. But his mother insisted. 

“I like your mate,” Donka said. Draco bristled, of course she should like Granger, what was there not to like? Unbidden, his brain supplied an array of various criticisms he himself offered Granger over the sixteen years they’d known one another. “She is fierce, great inner strength. I could feel it when I ran some diagnostics on her earlier.” Draco bared his teeth; Donka patted him on the head as she walked past him and rummaged in a bag she brought. “What I could not feel was your bond, Draco.” He froze. She walked back and handed him a tin; he opened it carefully and looked at her. She smiled sardonically, “For you… while you explain yourself.”

“Bonds are private affairs, between a Veela and their mate,” he said as he popped a cookie into his mouth.

“The bond would have to exist at all to be granted privacy,” Donka shot back easily as she settled into the armchair across from Draco. “I understand you want distance. I understand you want to avoid ‘undue influence.’” Draco grunted affirmatively. “What I don’t understand, Mister Malfoy, is how you’ve managed to avoid _any_ connection at all.”   
Draco weighed her words even as he sured up his defenses, despite the honey sweetness of the cookie, his mouth tasted like chalk and he set the cookie tin on the side table. Donka continued, “After the incident, you agreed you need to be physically nearer her than you were. Now you work across from her in an office space your mother tells me consists of just you two. It should not even be possible for you to have cut her off so completely.” 

“Does it matter so much?” he asked. 

“I can respect you wanting to limit certain aspects of your nature. I can respect that you want your mate to come to you entirely of her own free will. But whatever you are doing, and however you are doing it, you keep her locked away in the dark and alone this way. “

“No--”

“You endanger her--”

“No!” his control slipped and he shouted, banging a fist on the side table, clattering the cookie tin.

“Yes,” Donka hissed, all traces of patience and gentleness gone. “A good mate would have known her magic was faltering and weakening as soon as it started. You don’t have to seal a bond to have a bond! You know this, because you agreed to work on the bond just barely two months ago!” Donka breathed heavily. “I don’t think anyone is out to curse Ms. Granger, but if they are, you would have been aware of it as soon as it started. You’d know every individual who crossed your path with ill intent towards her and you could sniff out any objects designed to harm her.” 

Draco scraped his nails through his hair and felt the bones shifting, begging to elongate and sharpen.

“How can you sit here and still argue for distance?” Donka asked softly. Draco wondered if she had any children; he bet they were a sorry, cowed lot if she did. Truthfully, he was exhausted and he could feel his creature shredding his carefully constructed confines.

“What should I do?”

“Share space and _feel_ it. Whatever you’re doing to avoid feeling the call to her, stop. She is already in your bed; I can’t do much more for you than that.” Donka snorted. 

Draco escorted Donka back to where his mother sat up reading in the library. Narcissa kissed him on his temple before he left them there. He went back to his room to check on Granger. Misty sat diligently in an overstuffed chair situated next to the bed where she could keep careful track of her charge. Granger breathed deeply, exhaling little sighs. 

“Misty,” Draco whispered. His little elf whipped around and held a finger to her lips. Draco gestured toward the bathroom and made his way inside to wait for her.

“Yes, Master Draco?” Misty asked softly.

“How is she?” he asked. Misty shrugged.  
  
“She seemed fine.” Draco nodded.  
  
“Where are her things she arrived with?” 

Misty left the room and came back with a pile of Granger’s clothes. Draco gestured for her to put them on the ground and he began running them through a complex course of revealing charms searching for a curse. Nothing. He then began imbuing them with protective spells. He thought he heard Granger murmur from the other room, but when he paused to listen there was only silence. He instructed Misty to put Granger's things back and then made his way to the armoire, where he proceeded the whole procedure over again. He’d allowed Misty and his mother to acquire “ a few things” for Granger in the case of an emergency some months ago. 

It was back when she’d still been going out casually with a member of the French delegation to the British Ministry; Draco had never been more certain he’d be the cause of an international crisis than during those weeks. Theo and the other Investigators were looking into reports of illegal potions usage by members of the delegation with a rumor that more than one of the members was going into bars and dosing unsuspecting witches. Draco prowled and hunted the man from the shadows. Finch-Fletchley eventually nailed another member of the delegation for the misdeeds and Granger, horrified by her French beaux’s defense of his friend, dumped him in rather spectacular fashion in the Ministry’s Atrium in the middle of the 9AM rush. 

He’d just started on the last spell when he heard a deep groan come from the bed. The sound brought him up short, had sweat beading at his temples, and his hands shaking. _No. Nothing in._ Another groan. _Nothing out._ He strode over to Granger’s side of the bed and lit the bedside lamp with a wave of his hand. She moaned pitifully and blinked into the light. 

“Malfoy?” she asked.  
  
He sat heavily in the chair Misty had been in and placed a careful hand out. He breathed carefully through his mouth and ever so softly ran his fingers gently across her forehead, no fever, and into her hair. He let out a shuddering breath. He was distantly aware of Misty leaving the room and closing the door behind her. His senses were rioting to be set free to feast on Granger. 

Her eyes fluttered and she shifted uncomfortably to resettle disturbing her blankets and revealing his midnight blue velvet smoking jacket. She’d apparently wrapped herself up and fallen asleep in it. His cock twitched as he thought of how she was leaving her scent in his bed and on his clothes. Granger shifted more deeply into the covers, brought a delicate hand up to twine with his in her hair, and moaned. Draco nearly joined her as his vision swam and he felt his walls crumbling. Her scent was intoxicating and her breath danced across his wrist sending a shiver down his spine and tightening every muscle in his body. _Fuck me._ Granger was ostensibly in her sickbed and Draco was suddenly battling a raging erection. Guiltily, he tried to pull away. Granger turned to follow him, gripped his hand tightly in her small grasp, and placed her lips against his knuckles. While the hand held captive by Granger felt utterly in control, his other hand had shifted completely without Draco realizing it.. His talons, wickedly sharp and cruelly formed, cut through the fabric of the chair. They were so deadly sharp, the fabric barely made a sound as it shredded. 

Draco shifted to try to relieve some of the pressure in his groin, but all he did was reinforce the desire to enthusiastically shag Granger until they were both within an inch of unconsciousness. _Mate,_ the creature supplied helpfully. _Bond._ Yes, yes, alright, Draco thought, I get it. _Fuck._ Dammit. 

It might surprise Potter and Weasley to know it, but Draco had been raised to be a gentleman, albeit a very prejudiced one. The situation he found himself in just then made it incredibly difficult to parse out what course of action he should take, because surely a gentleman would flee to preserve dignity for all parties involved, but he couldn’t leave his mate alone, not when she was sick, could he? In the end, he decided to try to suck it up and stay. Granger appeared to be sleeping once more, so he shifted his poor wrist out of her breath’s line of fire, unzipped his trousers to accommodate an erection that didn’t appear to be going anywhere anytime soon, sent a brief hope out into the universe that, if he did come in his trousers, he’d be the first wake and it would go unnoticed. With that, he arranged his robes over his lap, swallowed a moan, gripped Granger’s hand a little tighter, and bent awkwardly to place his head on the mattress. He hoped for sudden death, failing that, he’d settle for sleep. 

It was sometime later that his door opened, waking Draco as light pooled in from the hallway, and he heard the unwelcomed sound of Potter’s voice in his bedroom. 

“I could hex you, you know,” Draco said as he raised his head from the mattress and tried to carefully extricate his hand from Granger’s so as not to wake her. 

“Emergency meeting,” Potter said. Draco’s eyes shot to his; Potter looked exhausted, like he’d been through the wringer. “Dining room. Now.”

“Should I wake her?” Draco asked.

“Let her sleep,” Potter said with resignation that Draco knew from years of working together only foretold bad things to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all!  
> I am so overwhelmed with gratitude for the comments, kudos, and subscriptions! I apologize that I am not on a set posting schedule and that I generally exist as a very awkward person who struggles to communicate with others intelligibly.  
> I don't have a beta, so all mistakes are my own. I've been in the Dramione fandom for ... oh god, a solid fifteen years and have never written a fic (though I always wanted to), so I'm very excited about this story. 
> 
> I hope you're all coping in lockdown as best you can and finding small ways to be kind to yourselves daily <3\. I'm currently getting by with puppy snuggles, fresh air, basil lime sparkling margaritas, and writing this fic.


	5. Chapter Five

Chapter Five

Draco entered the formal dining room and found his mother, Misty, and Draco’s second house elf Tilly in a flurry of activity handing out tea and cakes. Draco checked his wristwatch again. Still 4:47AM. He glanced around to take in the others. Potter, Ginny, Weasley, Donka, Theo, and surprisingly, his aunt Andromeda.  
“Good morning all,” he offered dryly as he took his seat at the head of the table. “Sorry for the delay. Misplaced my invitation.” He was briefly overwhelmed by the onslaught of information his brain was trying to feed him.  
  
Weasley looked paler than usual, Ginny was on edge, Theo’s foot was jangling in a truly noxious manner. Part of his creature was a rapid-fire visual threat assessment system; handy for work as an auror, but a damned nuisance the rest of the time. With walls firmly in place he could filter it out the majority of the feedback, but in the hour after waking, his control was shaky at best. Andromeda twisted her teacup this way and that way so it scraped against the china saucer beneath it and put Draco’s teeth on edge.

Theirs was a tenuous relationship; where Andromeda and Narcissa at least had a shared childhood to fall back on, she and Draco had nothing at all and started from scratch. He would not have counted on her being here, but he admittedly counted on very few people and knew that to be entirely his own failing. He nodded to her, “Aunt.”

“Draco,” she said softly. She was quite a wholly different sort of witch when compared to his Aunt Bella and his mother. Andromeda had none of his mother’s self-assuredness but she also had none of Bella’s cruelty or obsessive tendencies.  
  
“How is Hermione?” she asked. She was also a friend of Granger’s.

“Sleeping,” Draco said, “Soundly. So… better.” Andromeda accepted this and took a dainty sip of tea. Potter cleared his throat. Narcissa took her seat at Draco’s left hand side and he nodded to Potter to begin.  
“Everyone wanted the information as soon as possible, so here we are. Ron and I spent last night and this morning with a team of trusted individuals searching for a cause for Hermione’s illness.”

Weasley walked around the table to join Potter. “Just to re-cap, since not all of you got a very good explanation before we started searching your homes, sorry Andromeda, the Healers at St. Mungo believed that we’re dealing with a siphoning curse stealing Hermione’s magical core little by little, “ he said. Potter nodded. “They said it would either be a proximity curse, in which case we’re looking for someone with fairly regular access to Hermione--”

“-- or anyone passing by her in the halls of the Ministry, or hell, the fucking Atrium,” Draco scoffed. His mother shot him a look. “Well, yeah, but passing by her regularly,” Potter said.

Weasley jumped in, “Or an item in her possession that had been cursed. Hence why all our homes and workplaces were searched tonight.” Draco looked around to Andromeda. “She visits most Saturdays for tea and to play with Teddy,” his aunt explained with a little, _knowing_ grin. His mother has definitely told her then. Brilliant. He wheeled around to stare down Theo. “And she’s taking tea with you on Sundays then?” 

“No mate, we’re -- that is, we have been, um…” Draco’s stomach plummeted. Theo knew _all_ his secrets. It had never occurred to Draco to view Theo as a threat. Finally, with a heavy sigh, he admitted, “We’ve been working at the orphanage.”

“What.” Draco knew the orphanage. Hell, he funded the orphanage in its entirety now that the initial influx of post-war funding had run dry. He did the books himself each month. The orphanage was _his_. Theo knew this. “We volunteer. The literacy program?” Draco stared him down. He’d spoken to the literacy program staff; hell, he’d met with them. “Okay, we **are** the literacy program and we hired a few others to front it.”

_Merlin._

“And you’re spending a lot of time at the Nott estate are you?” Draco growled.

Weasley laughed, “Good Merlin, no! Can you imagine?” His eyes looked a little manic. “If Hermione was hanging about there we’d be searching it for days!”

Theo paled as he continued, “We usually meet at Granger’s --” Draco’s clenched fists slammed against the top of the table filling the room with a vicious _crack!_ as the surface split and splintered.

“Really, Draco, how appalling,” his mother hissed. Donka raised an eyebrow, smirking at his loss of control. Damn.

Theo rushed on, “--but! She’s been working late, so we were meeting in my office in the evenings. Sometimes. Not often.” Theo rushed to add.

“Often enough they thought it should be searched,” Draco glowered at him before turning to Potter and Weasley to continue.

“Er, right,” Weasley said, “Feel like I’m missing something.”

“Look, the long and short of it is there is not a single item to be found at any of our homes, workplaces, or Hermione’s flat so far. So we need to treat this as if someone is after her, most likely targeting her at work.”

Weasley added, “Our search team is small and trusted: Bill, George, Angelina, Theo, and Dean. People we _know_ would die for her. Harry’s having Kreacher set up Grimmauld for headquarters; it’s too dangerous to house the investigation within the ministry. This will allow us to be internally investigating the DMLE; we can’t rule out that one of ours may be to blame as they would be the ones in the closest proximity to her on a regular basis.”

“Draco,” Potter said, pulling his attention from where the fingernails on one hand were absentmindedly picking at the new crack in the table. “I know you were only supposed to work from home while we were ruling out objects that may be in your shared office space, however if the attack was happening at work, it means you can't go back either.” Good, he didn’t want to go back to that office-- he detested it. “So, we’re arranging for all the incoming contacts and files to be moved.”

“Absolutely not,” he stated. It was bad enough having to change his wards for his mother and having all these people popping out of his floo. He wouldn't stand for a parade of owls and interdepartmental memos. He had built this place as a haven away from the world; he wasn’t about to give that up.

“I was going to suggest bringing the contracts to Grimmauld. I’ll give you access and then you can choose to work out of one of the rooms there, or bring a few back with you here.” Potter pulled off his glasses and rubbed at his eyes. Draco watched as Ginny reached up and gave her husband’s arm a firm squeeze of reassurance. His heart panged.

“I suppose that’s alright then,” he said.

Weasley snorted and Potter rolled his eyes. “Theo’ll bring by the objects and contracts we cleared from you office in the morning. We’ve got Bill and George going back through them just to be absolutely certain.” 

“Harry, while Draco’s working from home and Miss Granger is on leave, and you’re all doing your best to find the culprit,” Narcissa gestured expansively to those around the table, “how can Andromeda and I help and have the healers offered any suggestions to further assist Miss Granger?” she asked.

“Right, that. They suggested replenishment potions--” at this Donka Balakov grinned widely “--sleeping draughts, and ‘not taxing herself’ which we all know will be impossible to enforce. I don’t envy you Draco. You thought you hated your job before, now you’re going to have bored and angry Hermione to contend with on top of it. “

“Our family healer,” Narcissa gestured to Donka, “can assist us with the potions and help monitor her health.”

“Mother, perhaps you and Aunt Andromeda could keep Granger distracted until she’s a bit stronger.”

“Not likely,” Andromeda said with a smirk, “but, sure, we can try.”

Draco stopped by the guest room to change into a pair of pajamas before returning to Hermione’s side. She appeared to be sleeping soundly, so he settled into the chair once more. He checked his walls, gently prodding them, and placed his hand on the mattress within inches of hers. A dangerous feeling began to take root as he watched one delicate hand stretch out towards his and clasp it: Hope. 

A few hours later, he was yawning his way through a cup of coffee and setting up his library to act as an at home office. He had a crick in his neck, but he felt _motivated,_ cheerfully so, in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time. Granger was in trouble, but for now she was safe: he knew precisely where she was and he knew for a fact his house had some of the best wards possible. Knowing that, being at peace with her physical safety for the time being, it was as though he suddenly had the mental space to care about other things. 

He expanded and elongated his desk to create a conference table of sorts. It was perfectly positioned in front of the largest window in his home; it stretched two stories and afforded him a view of the grounds. In the evening, it was a perfect vantage point from which to watch the sunset. It was one of the many simple pleasures Draco had learned to cultivate after his year in Azkaban: watching the sunrise and sunset held its own magic for him. After positioning the desk turned table, Tilly helped him rearrange the armchairs, chaise, and various small tables to create a rather cluttered sitting area at the far end away from his new workspace. He could practically already hear Granger grumbling to herself and trying to weasel her way into doing part of the work; with this arrangement he hoped to keep her at a reasonably far distance. 

Misty came skipping in with a wooden crate floating behind her. Theo followed shortly thereafter. Despite no longer being in the Nott’s employ, Misty was still devoted to Theo as her hero. A visit from Theo meant Misty would be practically dancing through the rest of the day. “Draco,” Theo said with a nod. He was nervous; Draco could practically taste it. “I wanted to explain my part of the literacy program, if you have a moment.”  
His instincts were going haywire; he recognized the creature wanted to tear into Theo, but the rational side of him balked at harming his closest friend.

“Tilly, would you please bring up breakfast for myself and Mister Nott?” Draco asked.

“Yes sir, Master Draco.” Tilly bowed deeply until her nose touched the floor and disappeared with a _pop!_ Moments later she reappeared with a tea service cart laden with food in tow. Nott floated over one of the armchairs to the table and took a seat. 

“That will be all for now, Tilly. Thank you.” Draco turned to Misty, who was still staring at Theo with rapt attention. “Misty.” The elf tore her gaze away to look at him. “You remember what I said about Miss Granger?” 

She nodded enthusiastically, “Oh yes, Misty is not to be waking Missus for any reason.” “If you’re concerned for any reason, first get Donka to her and then get me.” Misty nodded and was gone with a _crack!_

“Merlin’s beard, she’s calling her Missus? Draco, if even the bloody elves know she’s your mate… you can’t hide this from her forever,” Theo said. Draco stared at him coldly in response. “And you know she’ll be pissed when she realizes she overslept.”

Draco smirked, replying, “And I will happily redirect her ire toward Donka who called for additional rest. “

“Blaming an old woman,” Theo nodded as he loaded up his plate with pastries. “Truly, you are a paragon of gentlemanly virtue.”

“Get on with it.” Draco took a seat.

“Yours is not the only name that needs rehabilitating, and I don’t have the means of hosting large fundraisers or repairing the Hogwarts library,” Theo said. “Hermione and I got chatting at Potter’s birthday last year, after you left, and she mentioned that she wanted to do something for the orphanage.”  
Draco had left the party to respond to a report of a disruption in Knockturn Alley. It was the night he arrested Mr. Crabbe. 

Theo downed half a cup of tea and continued, “Well, she had a great idea, just not the funding and the program itself is not so grand that I couldn’t help. I thought we’d go public and then this was my chance to prove to everyone that a Nott is capable of more than just blind fanaticism.”

“And you’re accomplishing this great reconciliation by hiring a team to meet with me and pretend to be the face of the program?” Draco’s relatively good mood was now a thing of the past. 

“I didn’t realize Granger didn’t know you were the head of the orphanage,” Theo said softly. And there it was. A boulder settled in the pit of his stomach.

“She had these grand plans and was perfectly happy to front this endeavor with you when she thought the orphanage was what? Run by committee?”

Theo grimaced and took a deep breath before he said, “Potter.”

“Oh fuck me! Of course, of course she thought it was Saint Potter,” he raked his hands through his hair. “And when did she realize it wasn’t our dear, beloved savior?”

Theo screwed up his face. “Well, I knew you didn’t want it getting out, and I panicked, so I may have let her pitch our program to Potter?”

“Theo, what the fuck.”

“She obviously knows now though,” he said. Shortly after the New Year, the Prophet ran an article, without his consent, about how Draco stepped in once the funding ran out and had been supporting it for years. 

“She said she didn’t want to put you in an awkward position, because we’re best mates.”

“Did you believe her?” he asked.

“What I believe is ...I am friends with two of the densest students Hogwarts ever produced, “ Theo replied. Draco snorted. 

“You may be right,” he admitted. The leaves of the trees and shrubs in the garden outside flicked about in the breeze. A storm was distant, but brewing. “You’re headed back to help Potter?” he asked. Theo nodded, and shoveled the last of an eclair into his mouth. “Make sure he gives Justin a good hard look, yeah?”

“Mate, just because you don't like him--” He caught himself at the look Draco sent him and changed tack, “It isn’t that I don’t trust you, but right now we cannot trust your instincts. They’re all over the bloody place. Your instincts are fucked as long as you refuse to engage with-- don’t growl at me-- it won’t work,” he snapped. “I’m scared for you, Draco. You’re relying exclusively on Occlumency and it isn't sustainable in the long run.” He stood and pushed in his chair. “ ** _You_** don’t have superior instincts; your Veela does. Right now you’ve got that part of you caged up and starving.” He turned and made his way to the door.

“Hope you enjoyed your little chat with Donka and my mother, Nott.” Theo stopped at the door. “Your mother is terrified she’s going to lose you; don’t be surprised when she tells Granger herself.” 

“Then it's a rather good thing she made an Unbreakable Vow, isn’t it?” Draco never intended to tell another soul about that. Blasted Theo, standing in the doorway, stricken.

“How many Unbreakable Vows must one witch go through for you? Damn you Malfoy, I don’t even want to know you.” Theo left, but his anger lingered. 

\----

Hermione woke in a slow resurfacing into the world from a deep sense of peace she was certain she’d never found while conscious. The curtains of the bed were drawn and the enchanted canopy of stars glistened gently down at her. She stretched her arms and rotated her wrists, she felt oddly stiff, and sat up to push back the curtains. Misty beat her to it. “Missus, Misty is sorry for the delay.”

“Delay? I just woke.”

“As you say, Missus.” As Misty pulled the curtains aside, the canopy lightened to a daytime sky and the constellations faded from view. She was sad to see them go. “How is you feeling?” Misty asked earnestly. “Better,” Hermione said, “Quite a bit better actually.” She looked around the room. Everything was nearly as she remembered it. “There’s no clock.”

“Master Draco removed it this morning, Missus. Says you shouldn’t be worried.”

“By knowing the time?” Misty nodded as she placed the sumptuous fur-lined slippers on Hermone’s feet. 

“Thank you,” Hermione said as a reflex. “Misty, why would I worry about the time?” Misty shrugged and offered her a hand to help her down the two wooden steps that led down from the bed. “Misty, what time is it?” she asked as she let go of the elf’s hand and re-tied the midnight blue velvet smoking jacket. Misty bit her lip and looked away. “Master Draco said if Missus woke up after eleven then Misty was better off not saying.” “Right,” Hermione said to herself. Then she paused in front of a mirror, spelled her hair into a messy french braid, (though she couldn’t help but notice it appeared far softer after whatever Misty had used on it the night before) tore open the door and marched down the Hall. 

“Malfoy!” she shouted. “You git. Where are you?” Misty ran after her calling, “Missus, you are needing clothes to yell at Master Draco.” “I’m in a smoking jacket,” she stated with annoyance. “And Missus is supposed to be taking easy! And you didn’t brush your teeth,” Misty argued. Hermione sighed and turned around. She could see where yelling at a bloke while clad in rather revealing satin green pajamas and said bloke’s smoking jacket was perhaps not going to endear her to anyone in this particular house. Fusty purebloods. She made an about face and marched back into Draco’s bedroom to find clothes. Within the armoire, she found an array of outfits; all top quality with a definite lean toward comfort. 

“Whose are these again?” she asked nervously. She felt like enough of an interloper, she didn’t want to find out she was wearing Pansy Parkinson’s clothes that had been left behind. 

“Yours Missus. Misty is picking them up herself.”

“Oh, thank you. That was kind of you.” Hermione looked down into Misty’s hopeful face. “I’m still a little overwhelmed. Would you like to pick for me?” At the sight of the little elf’s enormous smile, Hermione knew she made the right call. 

“Missus should wear this!” Misty said with excitement; a set of extravagant dark blue dress robes floated out of the armoire for Hermione’s inspection. “Oh, that is gorgeous, but perhaps something a tad less formal?”

Eventually, they settled on a set of grey silk robes. Luxurious, but not overly formal. Hermione allowed Misty to lead her to the library. 

Draco was standing at a long table covered in piles of papers. His eyes, when he looked up from where he leaned over one such pile, were tired, but there was something lurking there she couldn’t quite place. “Hullo, Granger. Sleep well?” he asked. 

“I must have, it is after one o’clock in the afternoon,” she groused as she saw the time on his desk clock.

“Have you had anything to eat yet?” he glanced up at her and she shook her head. “Misty--” the elf was gone with a pop before he could even ask her to see to a meal. 

“She’s very dedicated,” Hermione observed. She walked around the table to two neat stacks: one tied with twine and a smaller one tied with red ribbon. She peered closer, “Malfoy, these are my contracts. What are you doing?”

“Ah, well I knew you couldn’t sleep forever, so I started with getting your mess sorted first. Now you cannot possibly cajole me into letting you do any of your work because there literally isn’t any work for you to do.”

“Clever,” she said dryly,” but I could always assist you.”

“Absolutely not,” he said almost cheerfully. Looking for a change of topic, he asked, “Everything alright? You don’t need anything?” She shook her head. “And the clothes will work for now?”

“Yes, it was so kind, but you really didn’t need to have Misty go through the trouble of choosing quite so many items.” Something about this amused him, she could see it in how he sucked on his lower lip and tried not to grin. Misty popped back into the room with a large lunch tray floating in front of her. 

“Misty brings for Master Draco, too.” 

“Over by the coffee table if you please,” he directed. Hermione followed him to the opposite end of the library. When they were seated and Misty had served them up plates of sandwiches Hermone glanced around for a topic of conversation. Despite them working across from one another the past couple months, and despite years of him working with her best friends, she’d never shared a meal with him alone. 

“This place is stunning,” she said, taking in the three stories of books, ladders, and staircases leading to landings and walkways where there were more books. The library was partially filled; there were a few very obvious sections on the ground and first level that were conspicuously empty. “I had no idea you had such a collection. Did you bring it with you from the Manor?” She watched his face furrow deeply. He didn’t seem upset, but rather like he was struggling with some other strong emotion.

“No,” he said. “The Manor houses a library to rival this one...it's about three, maybe even four, times the size if you can imagine; however many of the texts are... unsavory.” 

Hermione snorted. “Really? How many old books on blood purity can there be?”

He shot her a wan smile. “Yes, well it isn’t that entirely. It’s that the library is also a sort of family archive and while many artifacts go back to the time of the Conqueror, and many are -- as far as I know -- perfectly safe, those from directly after the Statute of Secrecy are rumored to be particularly nasty. “

“Cursed you mean?” 

He nodded, “Yes, or potentially cursed. I honestly don’t truly know, because a Malfoy can always handle the objects safely, but I’d prefer not to find out. More than that, I’d prefer to not house them here.”

“But they aren’t a danger to you and you apparently don’t even let your own mother here, so I can’t see anyone stumbling on them accidentally,” she giggled. 

“Oh splendid. That again. Mother will be so pleased to know she has a champion in you, Granger.”

“I guess I just don’t understand.”

“Wouldn’t be much of a fresh start if I’d brought all that purist crap with me, would it?” he said ruefully. “And anyway you’re here now, so I count myself rather fortunate to have not brought them with me.” She felt her smile melt off her face. 

“Oh,” she said. He looked perplexed and then, reading her mood correctly, offered, “Because I’m sure you will wander this collection while you are here, however long that may be, and now you may do so without worrying about being cursed.”

“Well,” she grinned, “at least I won’t be any _more_ cursed when I leave than when I entered.” He met her grin with a flicker of his own. She looked down at her plate and hoped he wasn’t remembering her writhing under Bellatrix’s wand. 

“Yeah, um, Potter came by quite early this morning and had an update,” he said softly. 

\----

Granger didn’t have as many questions about the aurors’ efforts as he anticipated. She appeared to mostly accept the update and the news that the healers wanted her taking regular doses of replenishment potions (“I have to warn you, Granger, it is dreadful-- much worse tasting than you’re used to.”) and sleeping draughts (“I just slept the day away all on my own!” she protested, “I’ll be a complete mess if I take a sleeping draught.”). All in all, Draco would count it among one of their better interactions.

When lunch was over and he returned to the contracts, Granger said she was going to explore. She did look around a bit, but he could tell her heart wasn’t in it. 

“Malfoy,” she called from the far end of the library. He looked up; she stood in front of one of the many empty shelves. “You filled so much of this already and right to the ceiling. Why did you leave these spaces empty?” she gestured with a hand to the shelves in front of her and those above her on the first floor. He walked to the end of the table and looked at her standing in front of those empty bookcases, _her_ empty bookcases, and he felt overcome by grief. Here it was: everything he would ever want, and always just outside his reach.

He cleared his throat and pretended to be studying the bookshelves. “I suppose I ran out of inspiration.” Granger huffed. “What? You don’t believe me?”

“Not a bit.” She smiled widely and he felt a keen pain ripple through his chest. 

“I’m not going to have a ton of luck keeping you from these bloody awful contracts am I?” he asked. She shook her head with mock sadness. “Right. What if you had a different project?”

Dubiously, she asked, “Like what?”

“Hear me out: you don’t care about doing work, you care about being busy-- having purpose. You hate the contracts, you’re already on emergency leave and St. Mungo’s now has to approve you returning to work. No one is going to come looking for you to make sure you’re working. Also, this job stresses you the fuck out-- it’s awful-- I don’t know why you even took it. It is a complete waste of your talent and intellect--” she went to interrupt him, but he held up a hand and plowed through. “What do you say...finish the library?”

Her face was screwed up in consternation, still focused on the need to deny his accusations about working in Corporate Services. He watched as his words sunk in and what he was saying took root. 

“Malfoy, I--” she looked confused, questioning, “I mean-- are you quite certain? I would fill a library with… I don’t know that our interests quite align.”

“Well, I’d be giving you an open line of credit to buy as many books as you can fit on those shelves be they magical of Muggle. Do you really care if what you choose isn’t something I’d choose for myself? And really, that is kind of the point.”

A look of horror crossed her face and she whipped out her wand. “Drop your wand!”

“What?”

“Drop your wand!” she shouted. “Third year, Draco Malfoy called me a Mudblood and what did I do?”

“What?” he dropped his wand and took several steps away from it. “Granger what on Earth?”

“What did I do?” she shouted louder than before. “You punched me?” he said. Out of the corner of his eye he saw his mother and Donka rush in, alerted by the shouts. He held a hand out to signal for them to stay back. 

“Well anyone might have known that! It was all over school that day,” Hermione continued yelling at him.

“Then why’d you ask it?” Draco was feeling a bit desperate and he knew it wasn’t all his. His walls were weak, he was getting feedback from Granger’s panic and it made him feel unsteady. 

“Fourth year. Draco Malfoy hexed me in our fourth year. What did he do?” Her eyes were crazed; she was fully in the grip of her panic. Draco lowered his arms to his sides. 

“Granger, I’m sorry--”

“What did he do?” she growled.

“I was hexing Potter and it got misdirected. It was _Densaugeo_ and really I always felt like you sort of owed me a thank you, Granger.”

Finally, she lowered her wand slightly and relaxed her stance. “Oh, and how do you figure that?”

“Well, I mean I can’t really see Viktor Krum asking you out with your old teeth, can you?” He hated himself for saying it, but knew this was one instinct that was right as he watched her fear turn to reluctant laughter.

Granger shook her head, “You are dreadful, but I suppose that just means you’re entirely yourself.”

Narcissa intervened then, walking to place herself in the middle of the room and thus firmly in their path. “May I ask what brought this on?” she asked Granger.

“Yes,” Donka said from where she stood observing. “Did he make any unwanted overtures? Or become violent?” the old bat actually sounded hopeful. He huffed a disgruntled sigh. “I’m terribly sorry,” Granger said. “Hate to be rude--” Draco rolled his eyes, of all the lies to tell “-- but who are you exactly?”

Hermione Granger at her most imperious. That did it for him apparently. He hid his grin behind a hand, pretending to wipe something from his face. He caught the look on his mother’s face: shock mingled with respect. _Granger, I could kiss you._ Finally, now maybe his mother would understand why it was never going to be him simply showing up with an apology, flowers, wine , and declaring himself as she’d begged him for years. “Hermione,” he said. Her gaze shot to his. He continued, “Allow me to introduce our family healer, Donka Balakov. Donka, this is the terrifying and terrific creature known the wizarding world over as Hermione Granger.” 

Donka’s ancient face lit up with unholy glee. “I know you Miss Granger,” Donka’s accent was suddenly far more prominent than it had been. 

“Yes, well,” Hermione sniffed, “ many do.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “You like to lead infamous men on,” Donka stated baldly.

“I beg your pardon!”

“Donka!” Narcissa cried, horrified. Draco was reminded of the many other times in his life when he was stuck on the sidelines watching a disaster occur and powerless to stop it.

“Is true,” Donka taunted. “Harry Potter, Viktor Krum…” she drifted off with a smile and turned to sneer at Draco. “And now--”

“McLaggen!” Draco added the first name that came to him. The most vile of Granger’s beaux over the years.

“I haven't been out with him almost two years!” Hermione protested angrily. For a moment there, Draco would have sworn he saw red sparks coming off her.  
“Haven’t you?” Draco asked with mock concern. “Dear me, Granger. You may want to seek out a higher caliber of wizard. I do believe McLaggen is telling tales out of turn in the office again.” She scoffed and pouted at him. Donka gave him a shrewd look. 

Rubbing her temples, his mother asked, “Why were you interrogating my son, Miss Granger?”

“He offered to give me free reign over finishing off his library,” Granger said, with a disbelieving laugh. 

“Oh, well that’s lovely!” his mother gushed. “And really very sensible.” She walked over to Granger and patted her arm. “I’m sure you’ll do an admirable job, dear.” Her smile was warm, genuine and Draco felt every heavy thud of Granger’s heartbeat as his mother reached out and tucked a stray curl behind the other woman’s ear. He’d have to talk to her about that; these motherly gestures that came so naturally to her were hurting Granger.

“Donka just needed to run a quick diagnostic and deliver a replenishment potion. Shall we sit?” Narcissa Malfoy was raised to be the perfect hostess, and had learned on the job to be a perfect Death Eater’s wife; such little questions were always demands. 

Donka held her wand and bottle of the potion aloft as she sat at one end of the chaise lounge. He was relieved to see Granger’s dose appeared quite a bit smaller than his. Granger gave him an uncertain glance; something was wrong. He dropped his walls slightly, allowing the scene to filter in: Granger’s nervous breathing, his mother’s pleased and happy scent, Donka’s impatience with him, Granger’s heartbeat going off rhythm, a sourness-- fear.

“Something’s wrong,” he realized. Granger moved toward the chaise and took a seat, but the feedback was worse. He crossed to her and knelt in front of her. “Granger-- Hermione, what’s wrong?” he asked forcefully. 

“Nothing,” she said weakly. He smelled nervous sweat on her palms. 

“Donka,” Draco bit out. “Why is she afraid of you?” He felt himself quivering with barely checked control.

“That’s ridiculous. I am not afraid,” Granger protested. 

He stared her down. 

“I just, if it is the diagnostic test from last night, I’d rather we didn’t,” she admitted. “I feel fine and I haven’t had any outbursts. Of magic,” she clarified at the sight of his raised brow. “So, perhaps we could try another or just assume I’m fine until evidence otherwise presents itself.”

“Donka, this woman stared down the Dark Lord, a castle full of Death Eaters and, worse than all them put together, my Aunt Bella. What the fuck kind of diagnostic did you run on her last night?” 

Donka pursed her lips and they disappeared amidst her the wrinkles. 

“A common one,” she said. At his mother’s slight cough, she added, “A necessary one.”

He felt a migraine building; his walls were still partially down and he was too close to Hermione. He glared at his mother. Donka’s presence in his life would always be her fault. 

“What was the worst side effect?” he asked Granger. 

“Pain so intense I thought for sure I’d vomit,” her voice was small, flat. _Fucking Bulgarian Veela experts have a lot to answer for._ He glowered at Donka. “Can I take her pain?” he asked.

“I should think it’s up to you,” she replied “You should be able to, but can you allow yourself to?”

_Nothing in. Nothing-- No. Right. Damn._

He pushed up the sleeves of his jumper, keeping his forearms carefully tucked to his sides out of habit, and sat on the chaise, forcing himself between Granger and Donka. He’d read about this: how to take and share his mate’s pain. The instructions all consisted of one not so helpful step: open yourself to it. 

“Alright there, Granger. Here’s what we’re going to do: I’m going to clasp your hands in order to attempt to take some if not all your pain as Donka works. Should I be unsuccessful in this endeavor, please feel free to aim at the Bulgarian causing all our grief at the moment.”

Granger looked at him and shook her head minutely. “Surely, you’ve vomited in front of someone before?” When she didn’t reply, he leaned his shoulder into hers and lowered his voice into a mock whisper, “Unless you’re vomiting fire, I promise it isn’t a big deal and I’m quite handy with a _Scourgify._ Nott can’t handle his firewhisky. _”_ Turning to look at him, she huffed an amused laugh. He realized a second too late he’d made a critical error. Her eyes, rimmed in shadows despite the many hours of sleep, were utterly captivating. Not knowing when he’d next have such an opportunity, he studied them. Golden freckles.  
“Okay,” she said, her breath dancing across his chin. “We can try.”  
There were golden freckles in her irises.

Never turning or pulling away, she breathed deeply through her nose, pulled her shoulders back, and held her hands out to his. He clasped them and looked down. “Oh no,” he said. “This won’t do. We angle like this and you will absolutely vomit on me and _that_ would be disgusting, so--” he leaned back and took hold of her left hand with his left, drawing her partially in front of him. Then he wrapped his right arm around her from behind and held his hand out in front of her, palm open. “Ready?” he whispered. She nodded, her unkempt french braid tickling his nose and the scent of her clawing at his brain. Vanilla, cardamon, citrus of some sort; he wanted to sink into that scent and never resurface. It was bloody awful.  
He adjusted his grip on her hands, and carefully started lowering his walls further. He’d heard her heartbeat before, now he felt its nervous tripping. He closed his eyes and he caught glimpses of shadows; her thoughts were a tumult of darkness beckoning him closer. He pulled back. The summer before his sixth year, he honed his skills becoming a Legilimens out of fear and an Occlumens out of necessity. He never wanted to tread in her mind if he could help it. He heard Donka set the replenishment potion on the coffee table. Her robes rustled as she moved into place. Hermione tensed further in anticipation. He waited.

Donka began murmuring the spell, and Granger hunched back against him. 

He couldn’t feel anything. She was shivering. He was failing. He heard her moan in pain. 

He curled around her, burying his face against her neck, as he held tight to her hands; his walls fell and he welcomed the pain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What a beast. All mistakes are my own. I really tried, but this was long and unwieldy. 
> 
> The "I don't even want to know you" line is from The West Wing (Mrs. Landingham!) and the "a higher caliber of wizard" is from A Very Potter Musical. I obviously don't own anything of it, but I didn't want anyone to think I was trying to hide those in there. 
> 
> Recipe for a Basil Lime Sparkling Margarita:
> 
> 1.5 oz of Tequila  
> a drizzle of agave syrup (adjust for your preferred level of sweetness)  
> 3 to 4 Basil leaves muddled  
> 1/4 to 1/2 a lime hand squeezed  
> -shake it up with ice, strain into a large wine glass over ice, add a basil leaf and lime wheel for garnish if you so choose and top it off with Lime La Croix, a lemon lime sparkling water, or a pure sparkling water. 
> 
> As always, thank you for reading!


	6. Chapter Six

Chapter 6

“ _You are nothing compared to them; how could you presume to exist in the same world, let alone compete with them?” a voice hissed in his ear. “Even if you save the world it won’t matter. You’ll always be nothing to them- worse than nothing: a pretender, a thief, a jumped up little know-it-all, a filthy little mud--”_

_He turned away and barely resisted the urge to thrust his hands over his ears. The night was frigid; his breath danced in front of his face before being whisked away by the breeze. He should cast a warming charm but … Harry had his wand? He turned to look at the rustling behind him. Potter offered a wand to him. “Here Hermione,” he said. “It’s your watch. Give me that necklace, yeah?”_

_Puzzled, he felt his mittened hands coming up to lift the necklace, a heavy, gaudy thing, up and over his head._

_“I’m sorry Miss Granger,” a kindly, elderly looking old wizard said from behind his desk. “But your parents' memories… Undoing a memory charm is delicate work even when the initial spellwork is done by an expert in the field. Your memory charm was … unpracticed. There’s no guarantee the process would get back their memories and wouldn’t completely destroy their ability to participate in their own lives. You can leave them be, to live their lives; or it is very likely they end up permanent residents in St. Mugo’s Janus Thickey Ward for Permanent Spell Damage.”_

_Draco felt his chest tighten in impossible pain as he tried to hold back tears. “What do you suggest?” he felt his lips move, but it was Hermione’s voice, her impossibly infuriating and infuriatingly sweet voice, that he heard. The old wizard didn’t even have the stomach to look him- them- in the eye when he said, “I suggest you say your good-byes, Miss Granger. Give this up. Mourn and , in time, begin to live your life.”_

  
  
  


_Suddenly he was looking at his own face from across a crowded pub. He felt himself taking in minute details reflexively: the shadows under his eyes, the way his smile didn’t quite take up the same space it had at Hogwarts, a pleased appreciation for his tousled hair and mudstained boots. Someone was singing a victory song in the back of the bar. He recognized that night; it was the first time he went out for drinks after a DMLE Quidditch scrimmage. A sing-song voice in his ear asked, “‘Mione, are you checking out Malfoy?” He turned to see a younger, drunk Ginny Weasley smiling widely. Draco felt his face flame in response. “Oh wow,” Ginny giggled, “yeah, you were!”_

_“I was - just concerned,” he said in Hermione’s voice, “for his … well being.”_

_He was now walking toward himself. They were in the Burrow by the looks of it; a celebration of some sort given the glasses of champagne Kreacher was toddling around with on a serving platter. He tried to look around, but Hermione’s head wouldn’t move. She seemed singularly focused on him._

_As they reached this other Draco, sallow skinned and leaning heavily against a door frame with his arm in a sling, he felt them stop short to take in his bedraggled appearance.  
“Malfoy?” they asked tentatively. _

_“Graaaanger,” he watched himself drawl. His eyes were unfocused; he watched as they seemed to trip over their body. “What’s wrong, love?”  
Draco was reeling; he had no memory of this moment. _

_“Malfoy, what did that mediwitch give you for the pain?” their voice was slightly higher now. He could feel how startled and uncertain Hermione felt. They turned to where a young woman was scowling at them from the corner. They turned back as this Draco shrugged and lost his balance momentarily. He righted himself and cleared his throat, “Said it was mild.”_

_They laughed softly. “I’m sure it was, before you drowned it in firewhiskey.”  
_ _He frowned sullenly.  
“A Malfoy can hold his liquor, Granger. Besides, this is only my second.” It was lowering to watch this version of himself, and knowing she’d ever seen him in such a state. _

_“A Malfoy does a lot of things. Not all of them are for you though, I think,” she offered softly._

_Draco was horrified to realize this version of himself was very inebriated indeed and currently appeared to be trying to glower at Granger, but the look lost nearly all of its potency with the way his eyes kept going unfocused. “Bloody know-it-all, Granger.”_

_“Not yet, but I’d like to.”_

_The other Draco shook his head too enthusiastically and closed his eyes until the unsteadiness passed._

_“Malfoy, open your eyes and look at me. I think that Mediwitch may have dosed you.” He could feel the dawning horror moving through them._

_“It's her job, Granger.” He then, eyes still closed, drew his chin back and in his best Snape impression added, “Obviously.”_

_A surprised, sad laugh erupted from Hermione; he felt her curiosity bubbling beneath her growing concern. “Malfoy, I think your Mediwitch was trying to … take advantage of you.”_

_He opened one eye questioningly. “Now Miss Granger, how could you possibly come to that conclusion?”_

_“ One, you are a wreck, like a proper disaster; I’ve seen you drink when you’re celebrating and drink when you’ve been positively desperate with anger and despair. I’ve never seen you this drunk. Two, she’s been glaring at me across the room ever since I came up to you.“_

_“Huh. All this time I’ve been stalking you, and then I’m the one getting drugged?” he watched as he chuckled.  
_ _Horrified, she stepped back, “What?”  
_ _“You’re quite a difficult witch to keep safe,” he slurred. “Oh don’t look like that, your boy wonders knew. It wasn’t like ‘official,’ but nobody really minds.”_

_The abrupt flash of heated anger as Granger grits her teeth, had Draco feeling quite sorry for the sod in front of him._

_They’re piled into a long table at the back of the Leakey; the whole strike team is there and various associated spouses and lovers. He’s watching himself from across the bar, blatantly flirting with the pretty witch struggling through her first night as bartender, but he returns with two drinks. He takes a seat across from them and slides one of the drinks forward.  
“Feeling brave, Granger?” he asks with a smirk. He feels thier face flush and her hoping the dim lighting is concealing most of her obvious interest.  
"Gryffindor,” she replies. Her eyes catch on his bruised cheekbone and the way he holds his left shoulder slightly higher than his right. That was the night, a year ago, the team took down a smuggling ring using the muggle side of the Port of London as cover to move cursed objects through the United Kingdom and then out into the wider world.  
“Yeah, yeah,” he rolled his eyes. He tapped the edge of his glass to hers. “Cheers, love.” He felt Hermione’s mouth tip up in a tenuous grin as her heart tripped at the word he said so casually. It hadn’t been casual, though; he’d agonized over that slip-up for months. _

“Draco… Draco? Malfoy!”  
Her voice came to him from out of some deep abyss. He felt her struggling against him, but he was falling and she was all he could cling to. He knew waking would be excruciating. Vanilla, cardamon, … maybe a lemon? The faint citrus teased him and he _needed_ to be able to put a name to it. His muscles were taught, locked; his breathing ragged. He shuddered at the onslaught of other scents-- other _people--_ chased away his focus on the physical pain. Merlin, why were other people here? 

“Draco?” Granger’s voice trembled. His face was tucked against her neck. It was torture. She was trying to turn towards him, but he gave her not a single centimeter. “What’s wrong with him?” she asked. “What did you let him do?”  
Draco moved slightly, fully resting the side of his face against the back of her head, steadying his breath and trying to regain control. His hands, mercifully, hadn’t changed into beastly talons, but he could still taste blood from where his elongated _fangs_ ripped into his tongue.  
 _Nothing in. Nothing out._ The steady voice of his godfather coaching him late at night. _Nothing in. Nothing out._ The simple echo of joy of being able to sit at a table with Hermione, their friends, and being able to participate in a conversion without fearing a loss of control. _Nothing in. Nothing out._ Granger’s smile on his first day working in Corporate Services... before he’d bollocks it all up, by letting his control slip, and then snapping at her to leave him in peace. He moved his tongue to test it out; at least the injuries he gave himself healed quickly.

He shuddered and pulled away from her freeing her hands. They immediately grabbed him by his wrists and arrested his movement entirely. He opened his eyes, hoping they had returned to their usual color, and glared at his mother and Donka. At least his mother had the decency to look distressed. 

“That was the last time you will perform that spell on her,” he snarled. “Find another way.” Donka looked like she wanted to protest, but she thought better of it. His mother cleared her throat delicately and agreed with a simple, “Yes, quite.”

Granger let go of his right wrist and shifted away from him so he was no longer draped around her, but she held tight to his left arm. Her eyes were focused solely on Donka; he couldn’t tear his away from where that hand of hers latched onto him directly over his faded Dark Mark. He covered her hand with his right one and tried to send her warmth and reassurance; an impossible feat as he’s so firmly closed himself off from her. 

“You’re stronger than yesterday,” Donka said. “It’s good. You are, I think, still quite depleted from where you usually are though.”

“But that’s great,” Granger said. She turned to face him, “If it's improved it means the impact isn’t permanent. I’m not dying.” She beamed. Her relief was infectious; he couldn’t help his returning smile. 

Donka said she’d look into other diagnostics, but the look she sent him told Draco there really weren’t any others. They’d have to speak later when Granger wasn’t around. Hermione said that after the initial pain she’d hadn’t felt much. She described the feeling as being dizzy, like she was stuck in a portkey, but not the wrenching pain of the night before. 

The whole experience left him feeling unmoored, shaken, and miserable. He was relieved she was showing improvement, of course he was; but it came at the cost of him using his creatures powers on her and that was alway a hardline he promised himself he’d never cross with her. He wondered if she’d experienced those same memories with him, or if she was completely unaware he’d been spun about her brain. Niether option was really preferable. He wondered if he could bear to open himself up to a connection with her everyday.  
  
“Miss Granger,” his mother interrupted his thoughts. “I was actually headed over here originally to see if you’d care to take tea with me in the outdoor garden? Andromeda should be by soon and she’s bringing my darling nephew with her.” He could actually feel Granger light up with excitement. Feeling her still, so keenly, couldn’t be good for him. 

  
“I’d absolutely love to,” she replied.  
“Splendid, and we can talk more about what you’d like to do with your part of the library--,” Draco shot her a warning look over Granger’s shoulder, “--I have contacts at Europe’s finest booksellers,” she continued, unbothered. “I can put you in touch with them if you’d like to peruse a listing of their inventory.” 

“Oh Mrs. Malfoy--”

“Narcissa, I insist.”

“Narcissa,” Granger corrected tentatively. “I’d love that. Truly.”

  
With that, his mother was escorting Granger away and out the door. Donka blocked his view of Granger’s ass as it moved beneath the grey silk robes that fairly clung to her curves. 

“Donka, I hate you.” The elderly witch smirked in response. 

“Draco, you know she is getting better because she is _here._ Being with you helps her; being bound to her would _save_ her.”

“It would steal her future. It would destroy her ability to choose.”

“Draco, I have always admired your commitment to doing what you perceive to be morally right in all of this.”

“I sense a ‘but’ coming.”

“ _However,_ you aren’t letting her choose you.” The sadness in Donka’s voice grated his already fraying nerves. “She already likes you, hell she already trusts you to care for her, or she never would have stayed here let alone allowed me to do that spell again. She was terrified until you stepped in.”

“Is there a point, Ms. Balakov?” he sneered.

“The point is you are a stupid man, and I think not just a little selfish.” Donka grabbed up the replenishment potion meant for Granger and turned to go. “She would choose you if you let her. If you weren’t so set on blocking her out and keeping her at arm's length, she would love you. She is your mate for a reason. So, maybe it is time you stopped pretending you put this distance between the two of you to protect _her.”  
_

With that, Donka left the library and let the door slam hard behind her.

  
  
  
Dinner that night was a small informal affair in the morning room around a circular table that only sat eight. Granger and his mother chatted away and filled the time telling him about Teddy’s antics and Granger’s plans for the library. Donka was gloriously absent and Draco felt like he could breathe free of her intent and knowing gaze. 

“Hermione was thinking of dedicating some of the space to children’s books--”

“--for when Teddy visits,” Granger clarified.

“--Both magical and muggle. Isn’t that wonderful, Draco?” his mother asked with a beaming smile. 

“Yes, brilliant,” he replied automatically. Merlin’s saggy tits; his mother was indulging in fantasies of little towheaded impossibly curly grandchildren. “A wonderful idea, Granger.” 

“Thank you, Malfoy,” Granger said primly as she speared her fork through a bit of her dessert, a raspberry cobbler Tilly made. 

“Why do the two of you insist on calling one another by your last names?” his mother asked. “Are you on a quidditch team I don’t know about?”  
She was teasing them; Draco couldn’t recall the last time he’d seen his mother this comfortable with someone other than him. She got along famously with the Potters and still, he wasn’t sure he’d ever witnessed such a simple unpracticed act as this.  
Granger giggled, “Oh yes, my prowess on a broom is famous, you know. Second only to my know-it-all attitude.”

“Come now, Granger,” he said, smirking. “Surely an Order of Merlin: First Class ranks in there somewhere.”

“No,” she shook her head sadly. “It’s brooms, being a swot,” she counted off on her fingers. “Then ‘leading infamous men on’ as your Donka was so pleased to note.” Here his mother choked back a laugh and covered it by taking a deep drink of her wine. “I think next would have to be ‘the girl’ who is friends with Harry Potter, and then --” she faltered.

“The girl who testifies on behalf of Death Eaters,” he offered. “The Prophet gave you hell for that.”

“Yes, so you see, an Order of Merlin doesn’t even crack the Top Five I’m afraid.” She beamed at his mother who was glancing warily between the pair of them. “All joking aside, I do call him Draco occasionally.”

“On what occasions?” he asked in mock disbelief.  
“On the occasion that you’ve earned it,” she shot back.  
“Ah,” his mother interjected with mock gravity, “so quite rarely then.”  
As the two most important people in his life shared an amused smile at his expense, Draco wondered when the last time he’d felt such uncomplicated joy. 

Of course it couldn’t last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter, light chapter before all hell breaks loose. <3


	7. Chapter Seven

  
Chapter Seven

“I expected you to put up more of a fight about work,” Malfoy mused aloud, never breaking his perusal of a new Flourish and Blotts contract he held in front of him. Hermione was sitting curled up on the floor in front of the fireplace with inventory lists on parchment spread before her: Draco’s ongoing inventory of every book he already owned (listed with its precise location in the library, she was pleased to note) and the inventories of various booksellers Narcissa had contacted on her behalf. 

“Honestly? I rather expected I’d put up more of a fight, too.” She was six days into her stay at Draco’s home and she found herself establishing a routine. While Donka and Narcissa were spending their time combing the Malfoy library and archives at the Manor looking for alternatives to the diagnostic spell Donka used on her, Hermione threw herself into planning the remainder of Draco’s library. 

She stood and stretched. Today she wore a warm tweed robe over her own clothes: a long sleeved black t-shirt and black yoga pants with sneakers. Harry escorted her to her flat the day before to pick up anything she wanted to have with her. The clothes Misty picked out were deliciously sumptuous, but she felt overdressed while wearing them. Malfoy cut a fine figure in the suits he typically wore to work in their shared office and out in public, but here he’d been working each day in athletic clothes that would not have looked out of place for a pick up game of quidditch. Meanwhile, she’d been feeling very much like an imposter walking about in silk robes that likely cost more than Hermione spent on her last set of dress robes for the Ministry’s Annual Winter Ball. It was telling that while she packed her favorite everyday clothes from her flat, she hadn’t packed much in the way of night clothes. Snuggling somewhat guiltily into Malfoy’s bed each night, she secretly delighted in the outrageousness of the pajamas and the smoking jacket. Yes, she realized the smoking jacket was his, and what at first was worn with an aim to preserve her dignity, now gave her a secret thrill. 

She walked over to where Malfoy still stood studying the Flourish and Blotts contract. “Is it a tricky one?” she asked.  
“That or I am exceptionally dull-witted today,” he replied with a smirk. His grey eyes, ringed in shadows, took her in from head to toe without comment. “Would you care to take a look at it?” he offered.  
“You know,” she said while cocking her hip and crossing her arms, “I rather find that I don’t.” She smiled widely. 

“You really hate this job, don’t you?” Malfoy placed the troublesome contract to the side and leaned across the table toward her. “Hermione Granger, mediocre employee?” He feigned distress. “Whatever shall become of us all? What next, Hogwarts falling into the Black Lake?”

“I do not find this job particularly stimulating,” she admitted with a shrug.

“Granger, you would have to have spent all your life in a broom cupboard in order to find this job stimulating… don’t tell Potter I said that, yeah?” His face was open, earnest. Hermione couldn’t help the surprised laugh that escaped her.

“I had good reasons for taking the job,” she said.

“Really?” He bit his lower lip, tracing her face with his gaze. Hermione felt a flush starting. “Care to enumerate on those reasons over lunch?”

Misty and Tilly set the garden table for tea. Hermione thought garden was perhaps too small a word for what amounted to a veritable private park. Malfoy held a chair out for her with great formality and waited for her to be seated before taking a seat himself. 

“Why the formality?” she asked, suspicious of his motives. 

“Formality?” His eyebrows disappeared behind his messy hair, reappearing briefly as he ran a hand through it leaving his hair more tousled than before. “Granger, it's good breeding.” She stiffened at the comment.  
“Is that so?”

“I didn’t mean-”

“Of course not.” Her smile was brittle. 

“I just meant that somethings are … second nature or reflexive because of how I was raised.” 

“And other things you’ve just decided to get over?” she asked. He sighed.  
“Quite,” he bit out. They sat in silence for a moment, serving themselves from the center of the table as Misty and Tilly filled their goblets with water and pumpkin juice. “Do Muggle men not pull out chairs?”  
“In my experience it occurs in old films and when they are performing for some audience.” At his puzzled look, she continued, “My father would pull out my mother’s chair if we were at a nice restaurant or at a formal party for their dental practice. He did it when he knew others were watching.”

Malfoy’s eyebrows were now firmly gathered over his nose. “Was he … unkind?” Her mouth was full, but she shook her head no. “Did your mother not like it? Sorry, I just… If it is a respectful custom in the muggle world, and it made him look better to his peers, why did he not do it all the time?”

“I guess it wasn’t necessary,” she said with a shrug, but this just seemed to distress Malfoy more.  
“Did it upset you when I did that?” he asked.  
“Not at all. I was just surprised. It isn’t expected in my world. I can honestly say the only time I’ve seen Harry pull out a chair for Ginny was at their wedding, when her skirts were in the way, and when she was heavily pregnant and even that was just the one time, because she jinxed him -- said he was implying she was too fat for the table.”

“Well, if you and my mother would wait for me to arrive at the dining room before seating yourself you would bear witness to just how expected it is in my world. Bloody witch would stand the whole time if I don’t pull her chair for her just to make a point.” 

Hermione giggled. Yes, she could see Narcissa standing imperiously behind a chair and glaring pointedly at her wayward progeny. 

“Now, Granger, you were going to explain to me the unbearable pull of working in Corporate Services. Don’t think I forgot.”

She bought some time by drinking deeply from her pumpkin juice. “Corporate Services is an oft forgotten member of the DMLE.”

“I heartily agree,” he replied. His eyes sparkled and his smirk was shown to full advantage in the afternoon sun. She sighed and patted down the frizz of her french braid. 

“I guess I just wanted a change.”  
“Do better,” he quipped while topping off her pumpkin juice. 

“Honestly? Honestly, I was exhausted. I’d worked my ass off for years in Magical Creatures, and everyone liked me well enough and I don’t mind saying I was highly competent at my job, I just--" she was horrified to feel tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. Malfoy saw her tears and paused, stricken, holding the carafe of juice aloft. His gaze held hers until she blinked and surreptitiously wiped away a stray tear. He coughed awkwardly putting the carafe down.

“I realized that they weren’t going to help me enact all the change I wanted. Really, my bosses weren’t going to let me. Draco--” at this he sat up at attention, “--they told me I had their support and then were actively campaigning against my work in private. I was a joke. Again.” She thought of mean schoolyard nicknames, chewed gum tossed into her hair during maths, Malfoy’s prejudice, Harry and Ron rolling their eyes as she tried to talk about S. P. E. W.… “It was humiliating.” She let it hang between them. Malfoy shook his head.

“You destroyed Rita Skeeter’s career over a few ultimately inconsequential articles; you could have brought that department to its knees.” 

“But why should I have to? Anyway, that was only one straw. I was still thinking I could tough it out, you know. Put in my time, get promoted, and once I was higher up, turn things on their head. But then I overheard a conversation between some members of the Beast Division, specifically Anthony and Terry Boot.”

Malfoy’s voice darkened as he clarified, “Goldstein?” She nodded.  
“Apparently, I was a bit of an office joke. I should have left then. Instead I stuck around for another year.” She sighed. “I was so full of passion at the beginning. Those first years, I knew if I just tried hard enough I’d accomplish everything I wanted.” 

“When did you decide to leave?” He’d abandoned his meal at this point. He had one hand angled and tucked just under the rim of his plate while the other clenched mercilessly in his lap. 

“Another Christmas Eve leaving the Burrow to spend the night alone. Pathetic, I know. Before all the grandkids came along, I always spent the night. Hell, even after the grandkids came along I still wedged myself in on a couch somewhere.” She looked off into the distance, “Oh you just cannot imagine anything as lovely or as wonderful as a Weasley Christmas.”

“Loud.”

“Active,” she countered.

“No privacy,” he said.

“But surrounded by love.”

Misty and Tilly began offering them dessert, Hermione declined hers, but Malfoy accepted a sticky toffee pudding. Hermione supposed it would be unspeakably rude for her to run off now. 

“You still haven’t answered the question,” he said, pointing to her with his spoon. She grinned.

“Damn, hoped you’d missed that.”

“Out with it, Granger.”

“I didn’t want to be alone anymore. In literally every sense of the word. For years, I’d been scraping together an hour here or there to see the boys and Gin. I could hardly ever make it for drinks after work with my co-workers, because I never stopped working when they did. I went home to my empty flat every night. Every man I’ve ever been out with eventually gets fed up with me for the hours I put in. What’s worse than that is I realized I was going out with anyone who asked me, because I was so desperate for someone to not get sick of me.” 

Her chin crumpled and Draco felt his heart shrivel up in sympathy. 

“Hermione--”

“And at the end of the day, who was there to truly care about me? I have no siblings, all my friends are married now, and my parents don’t recall who I am or that they’ve ever even had a daughter. I thought if I took a dull job, I wouldn’t care about it as much and I could leave and arrive on time. I told myself I could work on experimental spellwork with my free time and that, maybe, if I put the time into it, I’d finally find someone decent. I left because I thought if I made space in my life for a family, maybe I'd find one.” Draco warred with himself; reminding himself he was by every measure thoroughly unsuitable for Hermione. Every measure save one, if you count a biological imperative to kill anyone who may wish her ill as a positive trait. 

“You know Theo’s going to be pretty put out he didn’t make the rank as friend,” he offered helplessly. “And if anyone knows about being lonely only children, it's us; he and I had a club.” Oh Merlin. They’d sworn one another to secrecy on multiple occasions. Theo would have a cow.

“Are there meetings of this club?”

He nodded solemnly, “Oh yes, the SWS club is highly exclusive, but it does maintain a strict schedule and membership dues.”

“SWS?”

“Sods Without Siblings. Obviously.”

The grin the broke out on her face -- fuck, he thought he’d trade in a year of his doomed life to be able to make her smile like that every day that he had left. 

“And what might one owe in dues?” she asked. He sat back, folded his arms and gave her his most practiced sneer.

“A bit presumptuous of you to assume I’d let you pay dues.”

“Hilarious. Is that because I’m not allowed in your club or because allowing me to pay dues is somehow also against your code of chivalry?”

“It is not as great an offense as allowing a lady to seat herself at a table. No, but I do think it ranks up there with not taking one’s robe off to cover a puddle in order to keep a witch’s shoes from being muddied.”

“Indeed.”

He didn’t want to hope too hard, but he suspected she was looking at him in a manner that was quite nearly fond.

“Do you ever feel that way? Alone here, locked away from the world?”

“What desperately and miserably alone?”

She nodded.  
  
“Don’t be silly. It is a matter of perspective.” He chewed his bottom lip and avoided her eyes.  
  
“How do you mean?” Her voice was small. He hated when her voice got small. His skin crawled at the inherent wrongness of a weak and vulnerable Hermione Granger. He locked eyes with her, took a breath and told her, “Here I am not apart from the world, Granger. I am safe from it.” 

Her eyes welled over at that and frankly, he really couldn’t take it anymore. He stood abruptly, walked around the table and pulled her up from her seat by one of her dainty little hands. Those hands had helped win a war, they warded campsites for months on end, and they wielded a wand better than anyone Draco knew; they were the worthiest hands he’d ever encountered. 

“Hermione Granger, you are worthy of every true and right thing in this blasted world. If you want to blow the top off this house with experimental spells and potions do it. If you want to resign from your boring job that you _hate--”_ here she looked like she was going to argue with him, " -- and spend all day reading or spending my money on the library, do it. You deserve happiness; you deserve it.” He felt himself struggling to maintain control as he squeezed her hands between his. She must have seen an inkling of what lurked beneath, because she stepped away cautiously at first. She walked steadily to the french doors leading back inside, and didn’t really start to speed walk until she’d gently closed them behind her. He watched her walk away until the reflection of the glass obscured her completely. 

Scraping both his hands through his hair in frustration, he looked to Misty. “Any word from Potter?”

“No, Master Draco. Not yet.”  
  
Draco was being driven spare by Potter’s best friend, of course Potter didn't have an update. He briefly weighed his choices: he could seek Harry out at Grimmauld, now that he’d been let in on its location, or he could brood here and hope his mother and Donka had a miracle cure for Veelaism or at the very least a better diagnostic spell for an unbonded Veela mate. Both options seemed nigh on impossible, so bothering Potter it was. 

“Tilly, I need you to monitor the house wards. No one in or out who isn’t myself, my mother, or Donka. Got it?” The little elf nodded her assent. “Misty, guard Hermione.”

Misty bowed deeply. “Always, Master Draco. Missus is safe with me.”

* * *

  
Draco found Harry in a dingy upstairs drawing room, where he had an uncomfortable encounter with his own name and likeness glaring at him from a tapestry of the Black family tree.  
“Potter, you have to give me something to do to help. I can't do this; I’m going completely insane over there.” If he hadn’t just managed to drive Granger away with what essentially was a love confession, he would have felt worse about the strained neediness in his voice. Potter for his part looked totally unperturbed. 

“What did she do? Organize your elves to ask for better wages?”

Draco bared his teeth in a grimace.“Just give me something to do, something to sink my teeth into.” At Harry’s look he rushed to add, “Metaphorically, of course.”  
  
“You were ‘reassigned.’ You had a choice and you chose Contracts in Corporate Services with Hermione.” Harry removed his glasses and rubbed at one eye while stifling a yawn. “Did she hex you?”  
  
“No, she’s being all,” he gestured with a hand waving about, “sad.”

“Sad?” Harry sat up and paid attention to that. “Could she be feeling worse? What about the last diagnostic spell?”

Draco swallowed guiltily. There hadn’t been a last diagnostic spell since that day in the library when he’d strolled around Hermione’s memories while his skin was being struck by lightning from within.

“She’s unhappy,” Draco said. “She’s deeply unhappy, Potter.”

“Yes,” he nodded. 

“How can you say that like this?” Draco gestured to the even keeled way Potter seemed to take this all in stride. 

“I believe that if anyone is capable of finding happiness, or making her own, it is Hermione Granger. I believe if anyone is deserving of happiness, it's her.”

“And what, it’ll all just work itself out because Saint Potter says so?”

“Chosen One,” he smirked.   
  
"It is utterly beyond me why more people don't find you insufferable," Draco said dryly.  
  
  
  


In the end, Harry walked Draco through the investigation so far. He’d been owling updates, but it wasn’t the same as really getting a chance to see how the pieces connected. Unfortunately, there weren’t many pieces. “Without even the knowledge of what curse was used, we cannot hope to find who’s responsible for this. We basically don’t actually know what it is we’re looking for," Harry explained.

“You’re still at square one."

“Yes, and before you even go there we’re thoroughly vetting Finch-Fletchley.”

“And you’re investigating me?” Draco asked. “I mean, you’re investigating that maybe I was the intended target?” Potter didn’t answer right away. “What? What aren’t you saying right now?”

“I don’t think you could be the intended target,” Harry started, “because Hermione's issues with her magic two to three weeks before you started in her office.”

Draco sat heavily. “When did you learn that?” 

“Theo interviewed Neville and Luna. They’d returned from Brazil where they were observing and recording data on some rare type of tropical bird and Hermione went out with them around that time. They couldn’t pinpoint an exact date for me, you know how they can get, but they said she’d sent out waves of purple magic that appeared to be harmless to them, but that she nearly collapsed afterward and had no recollection. When they asked her about it, they said she seemed to think that they’d only just arrived for dinner, but really the meal was already over.”

“Looney and Longbottom can’t track time between them, but surely Hermione knows the date?” Draco said. Potter scrubbed his hands over his face. 

“You’re right of course. Well, there you go, there’s your assignment then. Go back and interview Hermione about her meal three months ago.” Potter smiled grimly. “Seriously mate, go home. If there’s any kind of break, I’ll owl you at the least.”

“Have you given Finch-Fletchley veritaserum?” He knew he was a dog with a bone, but Draco could feel it, he was on to something. 

“Justin is a ministry employee who made unwise comments in front of you; that doesn’t make him a threat. He has been investigated and nothing incriminating was found. If you attack him again, the only place you’ll be reassigned is to unemployment.”

* * *

Hermione, once she’d dried her eyes, had a long soak in the tub. She’d cast a stasis charm on the water so it kept the temperature from dropping and told Misty she would not be going down for tea or dinner later. “I think I just need to rest,” she said. “Please give my apologies to Narcissa and Master Draco.” Once out of the tub, she stood naked and inspected her reflection in the mirror. _Unexceptional._ She let Misty choose her pajamas for her and snuggled up into Draco’s smoking jacket. 

It was then that a large barn owl pecked at the window. Hermione let it in and asked Misty to find a treat for it while she fumbled with the parchment tied to the owl’s foot. She unfurled the parchment on Draco’s desk and sat heavily in his chair.

“Missus,” Misty’s tentative voice interrupted her thoughts. “Is you sick?” Hermione was alarmed to find she was shaking and thought she caught a hint of a lilac haze in the room. “How long?” she asked. When Misty didn’t reply, she clarified, “How long did I seem to be … indisposed.”

“Not long, only minutes, but Misty thinks she needs to get Master Draco.”

Hermione nodded. She left the parchment out for Draco. She walked back toward his bed and climbed the two little wooden stairs to reach the mattress comfortably. She burrowed under his blankets, sank into his bed, and wondered absently why he insisted on pretending the guest room he was in was his bedroom all along. Why did he allow her to disrupt his sanctuary here? 

She was vaguely aware of Misty’s cold hand briefly on her forehead and then a pop of apparition. 

* * *

Draco was reading through dead-end file after dead-end file while barking questions to Potter, and on the occasion he was in the room, Weasley. However, when Misty apparated to him, he’d flung his file to the side and stood immediately.

“What’s happened?” he asked gruffly. “Where is she?”

“Missus has a fever and made things foggy,” Misty said softly. Her large wet eyes held sorrow and guilt. Draco reached out his hand to her. “Together,” he stated, and they apparated away. 

In his bedroom, he saw where Granger was shivering violently, flushed, and covered in too many blankets. “Get Donka,” he directed Misty. Another crack and she was gone.

He pulled the blankets away from Hermione and climbed in to sit up next to her. “Come on Granger, budge over.” She rolled her head toward him and glared at him through heavy, glazed eyes. “What’s happened? What’s wrong?” he asked. She shook her head, and shivering, rolled away from him. 

“Did you know?” she asked. His stomach dropped and his mind raced with all the things she could conceivably be upset about. “When I was laying my heart bare, did you know?”

“Know what?” 

“Did you know it wouldn’t matter in the long run?”  
  
A _crack!_ as Misty came back with Donka and Narcissa followed.

“Granger, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Draco looked around desperately. His mother and Donka stood silently observing them, Tilly was at the door to the bedroom wringing her hands, while Misty was at his desk gathering a parchment. 

“Master Draco,” Misty said. “She is talking about this, I think.” He grabbed the paper from the elf.  
  
Emblazoned across the top was the Daily Prophet’s masthead. Below it read: _Wizengamot Pushes Through Marriage and Family Law; citing authority granted under post-war Recovery Act_

Official notices would begin arriving tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone reading, subscribing, leaving kudos and comments! You're filling my heart with joy <3


	8. Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight  
  


_“Would it be so bad to make it literally impossible for anyone to spew pureblood nonsense ever again?” Malfoy was watching her carefully, with a dumpling paused halfway to his mouth. They were at Harry and Ginny’s celebrating another fugitive Death Eater arrested. Ron had found her in her office still toiling away at a draft of a bill on Centaur rights despite the late hour and dragged her back to Harry and Ginny’s. Had she known Malfoy would be there, she would have put up more of a fight. Maybe.  
“It is a complete surrendering of personal freedoms, Malfoy,” she said aghast that he could seriously be considering the ridiculous proposal viable. He seemed to consider her words while he chewed his dumpling and swallowed. She absolutely didn’t track the movements of his Adam’s apple.  
“And it if we allowed one such law to pass...what’s to stop them from taking more of our freedoms.”_

_“Exactly.” She beamed at him as he nodded and grinned at her._

_“You have to admit, it would fix things though.”  
She scowled. “No it wouldn’t!”_

_“Shh!” Harry and Ginny hissed in unison. Their daughter Lilyana, a troublemaker just like her uncles, had just gone back to bed. Ginny had told her recently that they wanted to give Lily a brother or sister, but were genuinely terrified the second child would turn out like their elder sister. Neither Harry nor Ginny thought they could take two of them charming cutlery to fly about, or opening the sealed broom locker and taking their parents’ brooms for a joyride outside._

_“Sorry,” Draco whispered, grimacing with appropriate guilt. “I just mean, Granger, that isn’t the way to cure us of purist crap, to undermine the argument? No one can claim superiority, if everyone’s heritage is mixed up?”_

_“Oh please. First of all, classism will always find a way. You cannot sit there with your Malfoy family Gringotts vaults and tell me that if the law were passed tomorrow, you wouldn’t immediately seek out the half-blood witch with the most political influence and then feel vastly superior to your school chums who end up with us normal people.” He held up a hand to argue, but she steamrolled right passed him. “Secondly, imagine if you will a Muggle-born witch, fresh out of Hogwarts, being forced to choose her magic or say a Ministry assigned marriage to a wizard like your father.”_

_Malfoy paled at that. “Touché, Granger.” He lifted his bottle of butterbeer in mock toast.  
  
_

_She stood in front of the courtroom doors. She’d written and argued for bills before as part of her job in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, but she’d never appeared alone before the full Wizengamot. She certainly was not used to arguing against a proposed law either. Her parchment of her prepared statement was getting wrinkled in her hands the longer she had to wait to be called in._

_Finally, a member of the Magical law Enforcement Squad tasked with guard duty for the hearings opened the door and gestured her through. She held her head high and kept her gaze steadily focused ahead to where a podium was set up in the middle of the chamber. In addition to the full Wizengamot, there were several members of the press present. Seated directly behind Padma Patil reporting for Witch Weekly was a splash of platinum hair. Dammit. Malfoy always threw her off her game._

_Kingsley sat at the forefront and called the chamber to attention. He signaled for her to begin…_

_“That was bloody brilliant, Granger, you know that?” Malfoy leaned against the doorframe of her office. Hermione was still trembling with adrenaline; she had been rather good, she thought, but she didn’t want to jinx it. “There’s no way they can pass it now!” he was grinning widely. “The press is going to rip the Wizengamot and the old guard to shreds. I caught a bit of what Patil was writing before she caught me.” He threw a wink at her and sauntered off like that wasn’t the friendliest he’d ever been to her._

_“Listen, I heard a rumor.” Malfoy was once again in her doorway. He looked quite rumpled and his Auror robes were covered in what she’d describe, if pressed, as debris. “The blasted Unspeakables are trying to revive the Marriage Law.”_

_“It's been more than two years, they let it die quietly before, so what changed?” she asked.  
“Don’t know, they’re ruddy Unspeakables aren’t they?” He strode into her office and tossed himself haphazardly in her one free chair. The other was covered in a stack of files. “Worst case, they’ve some nefarious purpose and they’re going to trot out some crackpot prophecy about how the fate of our world depends on it. Best case, they’re well meaning and highly misguided.” Hermione blinked at him. “Granger, have you ever met an Unspeakable you trusted to have your best interest at heart?”  
“No, I can’t say I have.”_

_“We need to be ahead of this,” he said forcefully._

_“We?”_

_“I’m not giving up a single bloody freedom ever again, got it?”_

_“Why the change in heart?” she asked. “Before you seemed on the fence and thought making purist prejudice impossible was a good thing.”_

_“And if they could do it without threatening the personal freedom of choice for those I care about, I’d be fine with it. However, as you so eloquently argued before, that simply is not possible.” He grabbed the corner of her desk and leaned forward. “Do it again. Take them down again. Whatever you need: my gold, my connections, it is yours.”_

_It wasn’t lost on Hermione that for a seemingly desperate man, he hadn’t once mentioned how this law would impact him personally.  
  
  
  
_

_“Don’t you think you may be biting off more than you can chew with this, dear?” Hermione stared at Mrs. Weasley in shock. “And I’m not sure Greengrass and Harcourt don’t have the right of it.”_

_Hermione was gobsmacked.  
“You’re saying you agree with Head Unspeakable Greengrass and the Head of the Department of Magical Education that we should force people into arranged marriages and procreation? Or are they currently taking a stance on some other law I’m unaware of.”_

_Mr. Weasley had entered the room, caught the look on his wife’s face and the tone of Hermione’s voice and hightailed it back out._

_“It is as close as a guarantee to the end of this nonsense as we’re likely to get. Doesn’t that make it worth it?”_

_“That is positively ridiculous and you know it. You supported me the last time around.”_

_Mrs. Weasley stood and leaned over the table in a menacing way. Softly, her voice raising the hair of the back of Hermione's arms, she said, “I’ve lost my family in both these wars. How many more members should I have to lose when the next power hungry, prejudice asshole comes to power? You listen here, I’ve buried my brothers and my son. I will not be burying any of my grandchildren.”  
  
_

_She and Theo were sitting outside at a muggle cafe. It was Sunday and Theo found her huddled over her desk going over and over her arguments in preparation for the following day.  
“You’re sure you won’t let Draco grease the wheels a bit?” Theo asked casually.  
_ _“No,” she scowled. “I do not need Malfoy to bribe the Wizengamot.”  
_ _“You should be kinder to him you know,” Theo smirked. “In addition to being decidedly wealthy and quite handsome in a sharp pale sort of way, he’s dead useful.”  
_ _Hermione did not think she needed to dignify this with an answer. They sat in silence, watching the Muggles walk by on a beautiful late summer day. Theo was the first to break the silence.  
“You know, if it came down to it. I’d do it. I wouldn’t leave you to have to marry someone you can’t stand."  
_ _“That would be horribly unfair to Sam,” she replied. Sam was Theo’s muggle boyfriend and the younger brother of Dean Thomas. They’d met at a housewarming party for Dean the year before.  
“We’ve spoken about it. He understands.”   
_ _“Dean would not be happy,” she stated. Theo grinned in agreement.  
“He’s got a mean right hook and nasty way with jinxes.” At Hermione’s surprised look he clarified, “First time he stopped by Sam's in the morning and realized I’d spent the night.” Hermione laughed but then was brought up short by a sobering thought: _ _“What about the children? They're required under the proposed legislation.”  
_ _“Sam tells me Muggle IVF is quite the game changer.”  
_ _Tears sprang to Hermione’s eyes, “We shouldn’t even have to have this conversation.”  
_ _“This is my world, Granger. For all its wonders, it is insular and backwards; I know precisely how rancid it is. You need to buck up and play this like you’re here to win. Play the game like you're Lucius fucking Malfoy if you have to. Let Draco bully and bribe if that’s what it takes to guarantee your freedom; set him loose to menace them a little. “  
  
She caught Draco’s gaze as she entered the chamber. He looked as imperious as ever in a severely tailored suit and a sneer plastered to his face. He wasn’t hiding behind the press today. He sat directly above where she’d be presenting. No member of the Wizengamot could look at her without seeing him.  
The vote failed by a much closer margin than it had previously, but someone had carefully placed a series of exposes in the Daily Prophet on various members who voted for the bill and several seats changed hands afterwards. _

  


* * *

  
  
  
She decided she wasn’t speaking to him. Of course, she felt like absolute garbage, vacillating between chills and feeling like she was burning up, so she wasn’t really talking to anyone, but that was beside the point. He had to have known something was brewing. Why did no one tell her? Things like this didn’t happen overnight, no matter what the Prophet reported. She could still fight to have the law overturned, but she doubted the Wizengamot had written in enough time for her to stage a coup. 

She was dimly aware that Draco was still in the room. He was a frenetic presence on the outskirts of her consciousness; he paced and hissed things, presumably to Donka. Her teeth began to chatter and she swore heard an animalistic growl as the room was suddenly inundated with heat.   
  
  
  
“Draco,” his mother snapped.  
“What?” he growled. His fangs and talons were on full display.  
“She’s passed out.”   
He rushed to Hermione’s side. With his creature at the surface he had no hope of blocking her out. He could hear her heartbeat, smell her sickness in her sweat, and hear every nuance of her staccato breathing. He lurched in response. Powerless to help her, he cradled her gently in his lap. As his hands touched her bare skin, they shifted back to normal.   
“Draco,” his mother’s unsure voice just barely reached him, though he knew she must be close by. “She lost consciousness when you blasted the fireplace.”  
She was driving at a point, he knew it, but he couldn’t follow her train of thought. Everything was slipping sideways.  
  


  
  
  


Hermione woke up to the feeling of being smothered. Someone, a very male someone by the feel of things, was draped over her and pressing her into the mattress. She counted to fifty in her head to try to get a mental hold of things. She knew where she was; the bed curtains weren’t pulled and she could make out the midnight blue walls of Draco’s bedroom, She knew she’d been sick. Had Draco fallen asleep staying up looking after her?  
No. The law.  
She’s upset with him. She tried to push up a bit to roll away from him. A deep groan greeted her; well a deep groan and a rather impressive erection that was then wedged firmly against her ass. She bit her lip and tried again. Malfoy pulled her harder against him and used the movement to shift his hands about and slip one under the collar of the smoking jacket to cup her breast through the flimsy material of her pajamas.  
“Draco!” she hissed. He hummed a reply. “Draco, wake up!” she said more firmly. When he gave no sign of reacting, she used what tools she had available: her teeth and the pristine swath of pale skin on the inside of his forearm. He growled and flipped around so he was kneeling over her with a hand tight on her waist and one under her thigh. She swore for half a second she saw his eyes lit with some strange power, but she blinked and he was the same blond prat he’d been the day before. 

“Oh thank Merlin, you’re awake,” Narcissa came bustling in with Donka behind her. Startled, Draco sat back against the headboard and rearranged the blankets over the two of them hastily. Hermione sat up smirking at his obvious discomfort; he winced as he got himself situated. “The pair of you gave us a bit of a fright; both of you losing consciousness like that.”

“You passed out?” Hermione asked. She hated the accusatory tone in her voice. 

“You passed out first,” he grumbled. She scoffed and gave him a shove to put more distance between them. “What was that for?”

“You knew! You knew the ministry was going to pass this stupid law behind everyone’s backs and you did nothing!” 

“I didn’t know!” 

Hermione couldn’t tell how, but she _knew._ She could _feel_ how untrue his words were. 

“You’re lying. You’re lying to me.” She turned away to try to untangle herself from the blankets and get out of bed. From her position at the end of the bed, Donka shook her head in exasperation. 

“Is not wise, Ms. Granger,” she said. “You are weak.”

“I am many things, _Ms. Balakov,_ but do not think for one moment I am weak!” This declaration was undercut by the fact she had just tripped down the two steps that led down from the mattress. Narcissa was there to steady her. Hermione was abruptly and uncomfortable aware that her nipples were still slightly tingling from when this woman’s son had pawed at her just moments earlier. 

“Malfoy,” she hissed, “I don’t know what you gain from this--” Draco, who had been working his way over to the opposite side of the massive bed, paused to sneer at her, “--but believe me, I will find out, and I will make you regret this for the rest of your days. You foul, you, you awful--” Her vitriol choked away under the strain of reality. 

There was no schoolyard tantrum that would undo this. 

  
Draco stood from the bed and leaned across the mattress to confront her. He looked dreadful. Hermione was calculating the exact shades of his sallowness and deep shadows under his eyes, even as she was glaring at him. 

“Granger. Hermione, I did see something suspicious last week. I _did_ wonder if they were going to try to force something.”

“And you said nothing,” she accused.

“Correct. I said nothing. And you want to know why?” He was now making his way around the bed toward her in a way that would have been menacing, if the right side of his hair wasn’t sticking straight up from where it had been mashed into her pillow all night. “I didn’t say anything, because my suspicions were alerted the same day you went and landed yourself in St. Mungo’s!”

“Oh, brilliant, Draco. Very nice,” she replied dryly. “Now it is my fault you lied to me.”

“Stop,” he commanded, inching ever closer to her. “Stop saying I lied to you. I haven’t. I have never willfully deceived you with the aim of hurting you.” As Draco honed in on Hermione, Narcissa must have decided she was steady enough, because the other witch let go of her hold on the girl, patted her reassuringly on the arm, and backed away to join Donka. Her son didn’t even glance at her as she passed.  
“I didn’t think it worth mentioning to you, because I was a little concerned you were being cursed to death.”  
Hermione huffed at this.“You let me sit about and plan a fucking library when--”  
“What would you have had me do, Hermione?” He was irate, gesticulating wildly and he yelled. “Give you a court case and let you run yourself into the ground? _Listen to me:_ I thought you were dying. I thought we’d have time to stop the law if we could get you healthy and then I thought ‘Fuck it, I’m not the only Auror who knows. Let someone else fix this shit once in a while,’ okay?”

It felt truthful. Just like she couldn’t be sure why before she’d known he was lying, she couldn’t tell now why it felt like his words were echoing within her and the echo that came back was _true, true._

Draco slammed his eyes shut and raked his hand through his hair managing to somewhat flattening his wayward strands. He opened his eyes and met her gaze once more, “Hermione, please, I am sorry I didn’t act. I am sorry I didn’t recognize just how swiftly the Wizengamot would move on this. I am sorry that after years of fighting this law, we’re now here in this place where you feel powerless. But please, don’t rail against me right now; apparently neither one of us has been quite alright.”  
“I’m ill and cursed,” she defended. “What’s your excuse?” 

“Actually,” Donka interrupted. “You are neither.” At their shocked looks, she qualified it with, “We think.” She exchanged a look with Narcissa.  
“You see, Draco, Hermione didn’t pass out until you ignited the fireplace _wandlessly._ Then you came to check on her, but you were severely weakened.” Narcissa’s eyes gazed at her son steadily; Hermione saw they were ringed in red. “And I realized that the night you came home blind, well, you likely went blind when Hermione was forced to side-along apparate with Kreacher while she was in an already depleted state. Donka and I spent all night researching and questioning your elves to try to compare timelines. I’ve also written to Potter and Weasley.”

“Why?”

“Because I think there’s a very good chance that there exists a connection between your cores and you’re feeding off one another.”

“Just from working together… we haven’t even been on all that great of terms. Honestly, we got on far better before you started working with me, so how’s such a thing possible?” Hermione asked.  
“It isn’t,” Draco said firmly. “I spoke to Potter when I left here. He said Hermione was experiencing symptoms _before_ I transferred to Corporate Services.  
“Reassigned,” Hermione corrected.  
“Are you fucking serious right now?” he glowered. 

“It is possible,” Donka said dryly. Hermione was shocked to see the women glaring at Draco. “It is very possible. You were careless,” she accused.  
"It shouldn't be," Draco snapped. He looked stricken; he vaguely resembled Ron after the slug incident second year.  
“Malfoy?” Hermione asked uncertainly.  
“It's me,” he said gruffly. “Oh fuck.” His breathing became labored. “How? Fuck.” His wan features twisted as if in physical pain.

Alarmed, Hermione reached out to him; he flinched away. “I did this to you,” he whispered. He backed away from her suddenly, practically tripping over his own feet to rush for the bedroom door.

“Get back here, Malfoy!” she called angrily, but he ignored her and hurried off down the hall. She stared after him, utterly lost, until Narcissa gave a delicate cough. She met the older witch’s gaze, her eyes so like her son’s, “I don’t understand how we could be connected. We haven't played with bonding magic. We haven’t done anything even close.” She blushed at the implications; binding magic was nearly always intimate in nature. Donka, irritated, huffed at this. 

  
Just then a silver blue dog burst through the wall of the bedroom. Ron’s voice echoed in the bedroom.  
  
“HERMIONE, STAY EXACTLY WHERE YOU ARE. DO NOT LEAVE. NO MATTER WHAT.”

  
At that, the dog appeared to scan the room, not finding what it was looking for, it turned and went back the way it came. Three minutes later Draco came tearing back into the bedroom. He’d changed into brown trousers and a blue button down shirt, but in his rush he’d neglected a number of the buttons. His eyes were wild; he was an animal hunted. 

“Granger, get dressed. Mother, Donka, get to the dining room. We’ll meet you there.”

“The dining room? But Draco--” 

“NOW, Mother. Please.” He threw open the armoire and started rummaging about in it. A pair of women’s dragonhide boots, much like the ones the Aurors wore, landed on the mattress. This appeared to mean something to Narcissa. Spurred to action, she grabbed Donka by the arm and pulled her out of the room.  
Draco threw a pair of muggle jeans and a long sleeved maroon t-shirt in her direction. He marched over to her and wielded his wand to tie her hair back from her face. She ran her hand over the style and determined it to be a sloppy top knot. 

“Granger,” he gently placed his free hand against her cheek so his fingertips teased her scalp, “please. You need to be ready.” 

He waited outside the bathroom door until she exited fully dressed and armed with her wand. He said shortly, “Keep it ready.” She grit her teeth. It was like he’d forgotten he was dealing with the brightest third of the Golden Trio. He held his wand in his left hand.

“You’re not left-handed,” she observed.

“No. I’m not.” He reached out, took her left hand with his right, and laced his fingers through hers. He marched her to the dining room as if he expected adversaries around every corner. Once inside the room, he did a visual check that Narcissa, Donka, Tilly and Misty were safe within, and began warding the room and muttering incantations foreign to Hermione. Through it all he refused to let go of her hand. Idly, she noticed that even though they appeared to be in some sort of crisis, the elves had laid out breakfast on the dining table. She wondered if the morning’s Prophet already came.

“If it feels like I’m pulling magic from you, let me know. I can have my mother finish,” Draco said between incantations.   
“I feel fine.”   
His look was unimpressed.   
“I feel the same. Not great, but I don’t think I’ll keel over.”  
“Again.” He just had to add it. He couldn’t leave well enough alone, could he?  
Once the wards were in place, he escorted Hermione to the table and pulled out a seat to the right of his at the head of the table.   
“Sit.” he said.  
“You know, you’re being terribly commanding.”  
“Add it to your ongoing list of my flaws, Granger.”

Donka was clearly done. She sat with a “ _harrumph!”_ in her seat and began serving herself breakfast. Narcissa sat herself at the table, and therefore proved Draco’s earlier claim wrong, Hermione was happy to note. The witch was perfectly capable of pulling out her own chair if son was in the room. Draco paced like a caged tiger. Donka buttered her toast and let her knife clatter against her plate carelessly; he twitched in reaction. Catching Tilly’s eye, Hermione beckoned her over.

“Tilly, did the Prophet already come this morning?” she asked in her softest whisper to make certain he wouldn't overhear.

Draco whirled around. “Weasley tells us to shelter in place and be prepared and you’re asking for the newspaper? The bloody law won’t matter if we’re dead, Granger!”

“Really, Draco,” Narcissa sniffed. “Don’t be so dramatic.”

Draco sputtered, offended, and Hermione hid her smirk by taking a sip of her coffee. Tilly slipped the paper to her under the table. Hermione winked at the little elf and watched as her pointed ears flushed practically fuchsia. Hermione steeled herself for whatever awful possibilities the Prophet may report about the law. She waited for Draco to face away from her as he paced to pull the paper up and take a look.

She choked on a gasp. The front page was almost entirely taken up by a photograph of a building on fire while people ran from it. Narcissa hurried to her side. Numbly, Hermione read and reread the headline. 

“ATTACK ON FLAT NEAR GRINGOTTS; WAR HEROINE GRANGER PRESUMED DEAD”

Narcissa grabbed the paper from her, laid it flat on the table in the empty space where Draco and his breakfast should be. Hermione stood, letting her chair scrape against the hardwood floors without a care. She walked around to the entrance to the dining room. Standing her ground, feet apart, wand at the ready. Draco stopped and looked at her questioningly. 

Twisting her face into a hateful look she said flatly, “They passed that Law and rather than be held accountable to the public, they’ve gone and destroyed my flat as a distraction.”

“What?”  
“It’s true, dear.” Narcissa looked up from where she was still inspecting the prophet. “It looks like everyone else got away, but they’re reporting that they believe Ms. Granger is dead.”  
“It's ridiculous,” Hermione fumed. “Need to distract the public? Oh, I don’t know, let’s just set fire to Granger’s place, she’s not bloody using it.”  
“Hermione,” his voice was utterly devoid of either bite or charm. He ripped his wand free hand through his hair once, then came back around a second time to pull on the strands. “Whoever did this, did it with intention. It wasn’t a distraction, or at least it isn’t only a distraction.”  
“Oh really? And how can you know that?” she asked tartly.   
“Because the only people who know you’ve been staying here this past week are the people in this room, Potter, and Weasley.”

It was another two hours before they heard from anyone. Donka dozed off in her seat after she was done with breakfast while Narcissa and Hermione combed first the article about her supposed demise and then searched the rest of the paper for specifics about the marriage law. It did make the paper after all. The article was not terribly long with just a two inch by two inch square at the bottom of the front page and a “continued on page 3” which led them to another few inches of information. It appeared the majority of the details the Ministry was reserving to communicate directly to those impacted via Owl that day or in the following days. Hermione was grousing about how it all sounded like a lot of propaganda and rubbish when Ron’s patronus burst through the door announcing that he and Harry would be over in the coming minutes and asking Draco to please “don’t be a git, let us through.”

A moment later both men were striding through the doors to the dining room. A frenzied Theo followed close on their heels. His suit was rumpled and he looked like he'd gone a few rounds with a troll.   
"Well this is cosy. Don't get me wrong, Granger. I'm terribly delighted you aren't dead in your flat, but it would have been nice to have known that when I first saw the paper this morning," he chastised as he pulled her into a hug. 

Draco watched them carefully; His lip curled in distaste and she was startled to see him glaring at Theo. Theo for his part didn't seem bothered.   
“Well, I’m glad you two have sorted things out anyway,” Theo said as he straightened his tie. “I thought you’d never--” Theo’s eyes suddenly went wide and he reached for his throat.  
“Theo!” Hermione exclaimed. “Theo! Oh, he’s choking!”  
“He’ll be fine,” Malfoy drawled unconcerned. A moment later, Theo was gasping for breath, but otherwise seemed like he would be okay. “See?” Draco said.   
“Must have swallowed wrong.” Theo shot him a nasty look from where he was bent over.   
  
  


Potter and Weasley didn’t have anything vastly illuminating to share. Yes, the fire at Hermione’s flat was set intentionally. Yes, the Auror’s were treating it as an attempt on her life, and some of them did believe the timing was suspicious in light of the law. Unfortunately, someone had already let it leak to Robards that Hermione wasn’t found at her flat, so she must now be presumed alive or missing.  
“Being able to fake your death right now would have solved more than one problem,” Theo mused. When Hermione only nodded in agreement, Potter elbowed Theo to spur him on. “Well it's like this: they cannot make her marry if she’s presumed dead and she can’t be a target for anyone who may be wanting to curse her if she is already dead, right?”

Draco sighed. “But Robards knows, and he was in that meeting we saw Weasley, so we have to assume he plays some part in the passage of this law and we have to assume all the other players know by now.” Weasley glanced nervously at Hermione. 

“‘Mione, we never in a million years thought they’d have the thing passed in a week--”

“Save it, Ron.” She glared across the table at him, but it lacked a certain singeing heat Draco had come to expect from her fiercest displeased looks. She was distracted, anxious about the law. 

“Any word on these notices that are supposedly starting to go out today?”

“No,” Potter said. “Haven’t heard of anyone receiving one yet.”

“Well we wouldn’t, would we?” Theo said. 

“Yeah,” Ron added. “They’re not going to start with anyone we run around with; it’d cause too much trouble.”

Theo rolled his neck and said, “They’ll start with those on the fringes: the newly graduated muggle-borns with few friends and connections in this world and the older widowed set… and anyone they can control and keep from making a fuss.”  
Shit.  
“Perhaps someone with family members in Azkaban who don’t currently have a life sentence?” Draco mused aloud. Hermione whipped around to look at him.

“You cannot possibly think they’d believe they could control you with Lucius?” she asked.

“Not him," Theo said. "Pansy."

“She’s not married?” she asked incredulously. Draco wondered if Hermione had pegged Pansy as a girl who was raised to be the perfect Pureblood wife and mother. She wouldn’t be wrong if she had. 

“Widowed. And enjoying her freedom,” Draco explained. At this, Hermione wrinkled her brows in deep thought. Ron caught the look and sputtered, “Good Godric, Hermione, she didn’t off her husband!”

She smoothed out her features into a mask of faux serenity. “Ronald, I’m certain I never alluded to such a thing.”

“Anyway,” Theo said, “it looks like it may be awhile before we hear anything, Hermione.”

“Have you told Sam?” she asked softly. Theo nodded.  
“I told him as much as we know, which is fuck all-- Sorry, Narcissa-- and he is unhappy. I think he thinks I’m holding out on him. Lying. Told me to get out, so I kipped on Weasley’s couch.”

“You should have come here,” Draco said, annoyed.

“Well, yeah, I thought that too,” Theo rounded on him irritably. “But someone has this place warded to the gills and I thought ‘sod it, can’t something be easy?’ So I went to Weasley’s.”

“Boys, you are bickering,” Narcissa said in a tone that clearly communicated they’d better stop _or else._

Potter glanced around at the lot of them and chose that moment to ask Narcissa about the letter she sent the night before. 

“Have you made any progress on figuring out what’s wrong with Hermione?”

Donka, who’d been doing a remarkable impression of a sleeping old woman up until this point opened her eyes and smiled with manic glee. 

“Oh yes, Mr. Potter, we haven't told you yet. Nothing ails Ms. Granger except for Mr. Malfoy,” she said airily. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Urgh, sorry if the formatting is wonky. I tried multiple times to get it right and then found my stores of patience utterly depleted. 
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who is reading, subscribing, bookmarking, kudos-ing, and commenting! I'm going to catch up on answering questions tomorrow.
> 
> <3 I hope you are all staying safe and stable right now. <3


	9. Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine   
  
  
  
_Ah, so this is murderous rage,_ Draco thought somewhat hysterically. He had worked too hard, invested too much in Granger’s happiness; he refused to let Donka unmask him in this manner. Granger deserved better. She deserved to be told privately. Ideally, after she’d chosen him of her own volition. Every set of eyes in the room landed on him; even the house elves were looking at him with suspicion. _Great._ Well, that's what he got for telling them to be loyal to Granger. 

Potter turned to Granger, his eyes narrowed. “What’s that mean?” 

She pursed her lips and shrugged awkwardly. “I don’t actually know. We were interrupted by Ron’s patronus earlier and we never quite got around to figuring it out. Donka and Narcissa think our magic is bonded somehow.”

Draco closed his eyes momentarily in a bid for calm and patience before the storm, because Weasley was going to erupt once that little detail sunk in. Unfortunately, having his eyes closed meant that he missed Ron’s split-second decision to bypass yelling and move directly to physical assault. He was suddenly flying backwards as Weasley threw himself bodily at Draco and began wailing on him. 

“Ron, no!” Hermione cried. When this went ignored, she stunned Weasley. Draco suddenly had a completely immobile Weasley lying across him. He was fairly certain his nose was broken thanks to the ginger git. He wondered if he could heal it quickly enough that Granger wouldn’t notice it was broken in the first place. Then he thought better of it; it would be just his luck for him to channel his energy into healing his nose and somehow hurt Hermione again. Granger. Too many slip ups. 

His mother levitated Ron off of him and he nodded in acknowledgement. As he stood, pinching his nose to stem the flow of blood, Granger rushed to his side. 

“Oh no, I’m so sorry. Really I don’t know what his problem is. Here, move your hand. Let me fix that for you.” She pulled his hand away from his face with one hand and waved an _Episkey_ at his nose with the other. “There, good as new,” she said. Her smile was tinged with nerves; he could feel her uncertainty. He could feel her concern as if it were his own. He glanced down to where her hand still grasped his; the connection was stronger when they were touching. In horror, he realized the connection was also stronger because he had not once had his walls up. His mind may as well have been an open invitation to anyone wandering by. He pulled out of her grip with dismay. 

Weasley, revived by Potter, glared darkly at Draco from across the room. Draco sighed. 

“Weasley, I would never intentionally do this to her; you have to know that by now,” he said. “Whatever the nature of the connection, it was purely accidental.” Theo sucked in a breath and glanced at Granger, Draco followed his gaze. She was staring, stone faced at the table. “Granger, I would never--”   
“Of course you wouldn’t!” she replied quickly. Her voice held steady. “Ron knows that.”

“What I know is that there are very few ways to bind magic together and almost all of them involve his ferrety hands all over you.” Weasley continued to glare daggers. Narcissa chose that moment to try and smooth things over. “Mr. Weasley, Mr. Potter, do you have any reason to believe we’re unsafe here?” she asked.   
“This damn place is nearly unplottable,” Donka added.

“Nearly, but not entirely.” Draco scowled at his mother. This had been a point of contention between them for some time. He would have far preferred his home was unplottable; Narcissa said it was paranoid and classless. 

Potter saw the opportunity for what it was: an escape. “Actually,” he said, “I think this location is pretty well secured, but Ron and I should thoroughly inspect the wards and boundaries just to be sure.” 

Draco scrubbed his hand across the drying blood under his nose. “I’ll come,” he said.

“Oh yes,” Weasley sneered. “Please come perform extraordinarily draining magic while your magical core is currently sucking the life out of our best friend.” As much as it pained Draco to admit it, he had a point. 

“Can we leave now?” Hermione asked Potter. “Can we travel about the house freely?”

“No,” Draco said. Potter sighed. 

“Hate to side with him on this, but he’s right. I will say you can leave the dining room, but you need to stay together. What were you thinking?”

“Maybe Malfoy and I can have a look at Narcissa and Donka’s research. You know, start to figure out how our magic became entangled so we can begin to figure out how to fix this mess.”

\---------

_“I would never intentionally do this…. Whatever the nature of the connection, it was purely accidental.”_

Well, obviously it was an accident. Hermione sighed as she stood in front of a row of books in the library, ostensibly searching for anything useful about magical bondings. Draco was not the nasty little bully she’d encountered as a child, he wasn’t the terrified and trapped unwilling Death Eater forced to watch her torture, he wasn’t the hangdog and penitent clerk working off his probation she’d occasionally see in the Atrium or lift at the ministry. He also wasn’t the cocksure Auror who confidently walked the halls with her best friends and smirked with pride when they took down a particularly challenging target-- that Malfoy had almost seemed like a friend. 

He came out for drinks, pick-up Quidditch games at the Burrow, and bleary eyed brunches on Sunday mornings after fundraising events had gone well into the wee hours of the morning. He’d joked with her and had even walked her home after a night out on a number of occasions. She could almost understand an accidental connection to that Malfoy. That Malfoy was far more agreeable than the one who had worked with her for two months. 

She glanced over her shoulder to where Malfoy was standing at his work table, head bent over a book and a piece of parchment, while his mother stood at his shoulder and pointed to various places that caught her attention. He looked up and glanced around, but it was to locate Donka and watch her carefully. Hermione too looked at the old woman who was curled up on the chaise lounge and appeared once again to be sleeping. She thought it really must have been a late night for the elderly little witch to sleep under the nose of someone who was so obviously pissed at her. That Malfoy, this short and aggrieved Malfoy, was who came to work everyday. His first day happened to coincide with her annual review and that was scheduled for first thing in the morning. She’d missed his arrival and hadn’t had a chance to try to get him settled in yet. Her review had been fine by usual standards she was sure, but it was easily the most lackluster performance review she’d ever received. She hadn’t been in the best headspace when she first got back to the office. 

She walked in to him leaning against her desk, completely relaxed, with one hand in his pocket and the other holding up a contract that likely just arrived. He’d initially greeted her with a warm, if self-conscious, smile and a soft, “Hey Granger, miss me?” It had been meant as a joke as they’d both been with a slew of their friends at the Harpies versus Tornadoes game the day before, but Hermione just sighed and mumbled a hello. Hardly the enthusiastic response one may anticipate from a coworker, especially one you regularly got on with fairly well. 

She’d dully walked him through the broad strokes of the job and reiterated one too many times that anything related to Malfoy Holdings must go through her and he could have no input on the validity of those contracts whatsoever. He’d gone sullen and terse, snapped an “Obviously” worthy of their old Potions master and got to work. He didn’t make small talk, didn’t mumble or tap obnoxiously; all things Hermione worried about when she heard Malfoy was reassigned to Corporate Services and would be sharing her office. She realized after he left her to go to lunch without so much as a word that she must have messed up somewhere; he must have misinterpreted her mood. And why shouldn’t he? From his perspective she had simply walked in thirty minutes late in a foul mood and spent the next thirty minutes walking him through a job that was genuinely beneath both of them while harping on how he shouldn’t commit ethics violations!

When he returned from lunch, she tried to explain what had happened that morning, but he was closed off and cold. She kept trying to mend whatever was broken that first week, but their work relationship hardly thawed. He stopped going out for drinks on Fridays with Ron and Harry; she asked him once, when she was headed to meet them for just such an occasion, why he no longer came. He shrugged and said, “I don’t relish the idea of hearing all about their misadventures that, by rights, should still be mine. Incidentally, I find I’m quite tired these days, Granger.” That was the closest they’d come to friendly workplace conversation.   
  
Hermione shuddered. No, their accidental connection, if such a thing existed, had definitely _not_ occurred since he started working with her. It must have occurred before. She stepped away from the shelves that were doing her absolutely no good. The library was arranged by broad topic, much as Hogwarts had been and then alphabetical within. The section she’d chosen to pretend to peruse appeared to be a collection of magical poetry. Hopefully Malfoy hadn’t noticed.

She glanced around. Malfoy was still deep in conversation with his mother, but Theo was striding over to her with a smirk on his face. She quickly stepped back to try to put distance between herself and a tome titled, _Enchanting Verses to Excite and Arous_ e that stood out on the shelf with its deep crimson spine. It was no use.

“Having a lot of luck over here?” Theo asked. His eyes immediately lit upon the titles of the books. “My, my. _Naughty._ Though I must say I think you’d have greater luck in the Magical Creatures section.”

She rolled her eyes. “And why is that, Nott? Because I’m such a beast?”

“Not at all. Because he is,” he replied lightly, with nod toward Malfoy. She let out a small, slightly entertained huff. “In all seriousness, though. However this works out, recall our previous conversation. If you need me, Granger, I’m here.” 

“Come now, Theo. Its not that grim; I may not even survive this curse or connection, whatever it is, long enough to have to walk down the aisle.”

Draco felt itchy; it was a common side effect when he found himself thoroughly out of good humor. His mother’s research was compelling; she’d found an old family diary that said if a match was strong and had built a relationship over time, a formal mating bite was not necessary for the couple to begin experiencing the side effects of a true bond. There was no specific mention of the pair depleting one another, but there was mention of shared thoughts, feelings, and occasionally dreams. The diary referred to the author’s own relationship that had grown out of a close friendship while at Hogwarts. Lucky prick. Narcissa cross referenced it with the letters and a few entries from the Veela’s mate. It all seemed to add up nicely, at least for those two. 

“Mother, you’re forgetting something rather crucial: Granger and I were not close at school.”

“Perhaps you don’t view it that way, but--”

“Nobody views it that way. The closest she ever was when she punched me in third year.”

A stag patronus passed through the great window just then and gave Draco the all clear. The wards were in place, reinforced, and Potter and Weasley were headed back into the Ministry. As the stag faded and Narcissa narrowed her eyes at him. Not to be deterred she asked, “And what is the closest you’ve been since school? Hmm? All those drinks after work, afternoons at the Burrow, those had to be good for something?”

“I wouldn’t bet on it,” he said dryly even as he felt his face flush hotly. He felt pathetic. He’d told himself all these years he was playing the long game, but now they were at a crisis point and his mate still had no clue she was the reason he got out of bed each day. Looking for a distraction he glanced around the room. He caught sight of Theo tucked in close to Hermione and saw red. It didn’t matter that he _knew_ Theo and Hermione had been out for dinner once and it was awful by both accounts, or that Theo was currently in a committed relationship with a man, Draco saw him as a threat. He dropped his walls quickly and reached out to the place in his mind where he had felt Hermione earlier. _Uncomfortable_ , but he reasoned, not endangered. Not scared of him. The way she’d likely be terrified of Draco the first time she witnessed him shift and realized she was doomed to be with a creature who desperately wished to bite and claim her. 

Theo appeared to lean further into Hermione’s space and Draco felt his talons beg for release. He cracked his neck to try to control his fangs. He began striding toward Theo before he could be completely certain he looked entirely human. 

“Nott!” he called out too loudly as he gripped the man by the forearm and forced him around. “I have a great favor to ask of you,” he said darkly. He yanked Theo back several steps until he could be reasonably certain Hermione couldn’t hear him. “Go back to work,” Draco hissed. 

“That’s your favor?” he asked. “What do you really want?”

Draco’s hand applied pressure to Theo’s arm with such force that he was mildly worried he’d break his best friend’s arm. 

“I don’t care, just keep your mitts to yourself.”

Theo rolled his eyes. “Anything else I can get you with that?”

“Yes,” he replied immediately. “A copy of the new law. Granger is going to want to overturn the law regardless of whatever else is happening with us right now.”

“Copy of the law, got it.” Theo turned away to head out of the library and to the floo, but paused and turned back to raise a questioning brow to Draco. “What?” Draco hissed. Theo walked back and leaned in close. Mumbling under his breath he asked, “Why not let sleeping dogs lie? She hasn’t asked for it--”

“Yet,” Draco interrupted.

“-- yet,” Theo agreed. “Why not just propose yourself as her match for the law? I’ve already offered myself so she wouldn’t feel trapped but if you just come out and offer I’m sure she’d--” 

His hand was wrapped around Theo’s throat before he’d finished processing exactly what his friend was suggesting. His talons were out and small rivulets of blood were welling up against Theo’s tan skin. Draco shifted slightly to block any view Hermione may have of them. He leaned in close to Theo’s face and rasped through his fangs, “Let’s be very clear. I’ll kill any man who thinks to take her as his wife.” He then released Theo in disgust.

“Yeah,” Theo snarled lowly. “Even if it is _her choice?”_ He threw Draco’s own words back at him; words Draco so often cited as the reason for all his secrecy, his planning, his pathetic attempts to win her over while never actually making a fucking move. “It’s almost like you should just tell her the truth and let the pieces fall where they may,” Theo hissed, but even as he did he was turning to head back to the ministry. “One copy of the Marriage Law coming right up!” he called loudly. 

She whipped around at Theo’s loud exclamation. He sounded annoyed and Draco looked furious as his friend left. He turned and marched back to Narcissa. They exchanged a few words, both looking up at the same time to catch Hermione staring at them, and then Narcissa vanished her research and followed Theo out of the library. Hermione bit her lip and gave one more glance to the tomes of poetry, before heading over to Draco.   
  
“You look exhausted,” she said. He gave her his most exasperated look in reply. “I mean weary.” He maintained his silence while he straightened his already orderly piles of parchments. She supposed she’d known he was rather fastidious back at their office, but their desks were so small and cramped it made it difficult to sustain tidiness. Here he was always fiddling and arranging things in precise ways. She wondered if it was a nervous tic. She wondered if it was her fault. 

“You sent Theo to get a copy of the law?” 

“Yes,” he finally replied. “I figured it couldn’t hurt.”

“Your mother’s research was a bust?” she asked. 

“Why do you say that?”

‘You sent her away.” He laughed loudly before seeing Donka still asleep and reining it in. “Sorry,” he said. “It is just I doubt I’ll live to see the day I can successfully ‘send her away’ as you put it. No, Granger, I didn’t send my mother away. I asked her to keep going through the archives. She may be on to something.”

“Can I see?” She would have missed it if she hadn’t been lost in making a study of the way the light from the large window played with his eye color: his face tightened almost imperceptibly. 

“I had her remove the texts,” he admitted. “Why?” she asked, though she had a sinking feeling she knew the answer. “Because I’d sully them?”

His gaze sharpened. 

“Never. You have it the wrong way round. Its because I cannot be sure they wouldn’t hurt you.”

“How could a book know I’m a m--”

“How could I be certain it doesn’t?” he asked quickly. “I admit, I have no idea. But my father used to take inordinate joy in telling me all the horrible things that would befall the unworthy person who dared to sully the family collection. And the family portraits all say the same." 

She huffed and sat heavily in the chair around the table closest to where he was standing. It was still a good few feet away, but she imagined she saw him stiffen all the same. “You know,” she said, “I don’t much care for art.”

He shot her an incredulous look. “That’s a curious statement from someone who just spent the better part of an hour over in the erotic poetry.” She felt the very roots of her hair burning with embarrassment. _Damn him._ “I’m choosing to ignore that comment,” she said in a tone she recognized as her Professor McGonagall voice. When she worked up the courage to glance at Draco she found his shoulders quaking in silent laughter _._ “This is a waste of time, Malfoy. Explain what your found so we can begin hashing it out.”

“A couple- a pair-” he corrected quickly, “who developed a magical bond, slowly and over time.”

“That sounds relatively plausible,” she said.

“They were classmates and bond developed out of their friendship at school and their near constant contact.”

“Right, so we’ve got fuck all,” she said cheerfully.

“Quite.”

“Unless, our somewhat friendship--” here Hermione studiously avoided catching his eye, “-- from before you were reassigned, has morphed into a kind of pseudo bond.” She thought for a moment. That idea didn’t feel right.

“Between our jobs, our friendship was never consistent. Some weeks, I saw you all the time, and then I'd have an assignment out of town and be gone, and then you'd be pulling long hours... Doesn't really feel like it fits," he said. 

“Did they find anything else?” she asked.

“There was one reference to what translated to “shared experience” but thats hopelessly vague, so not particularly helpful.”

“Draco, what about a bond through an intense, shared moment? Like a turning point?”

His heart stuttered. Here it was: the drawing room. The moment that spurred his transition and later told him that he already knew his mate. Should he confess everything once she brought it up? They’d only spoken about the drawing room once. Hs first year as an auror at the Ministry holiday party. The room had been packed and it was absolutely sweltering; Hermione wore dress robes with long sleeves. He blamed it on the whisky, but he knew he was still sober when he’d gone up to her where she stood trying to blend into a corner and avoid her coworkers. She’d glanced up at him over her glass of wine and he’d stuttered out an apology. She’d been furious. She dragged him out onto a terrace, cast a muffliato, and asked him if he’d taken to channeling Bellatrix, or perhaps passed the message on from his parents, because that was the only way she’d accept it. “I have never blamed you, Malfoy. Not once; not even in my darkest moments. Apologize for being an ass and for calling me a mudblood, fine. But that night. No.”

“I guess it would have to be close to when I first started losing time. I went out with Neville and Luna a bit before you started working with me and I seemed to have lost part of the time.” She bit her lip in thought. He exhaled softly. Not the drawing room then. She looked up at him, “Do you have a calendar? Were we together at all in the week leading up to that?” He rummaged inside his desk, carefully bypassing his collection of calming and replenishing potions so they would not clink, and presented her with a calendar. He couldn’t recall ever using it, but it was charmed to update with the correct dates each year, so it should suffice. She took it with a mumbled thanks, reached over to take one of his self inking quills and began circling dates. She reviewed the dates carefully and gave him a sideways glance. “May I ask a question?”

“Why start asking permission now, Granger?’

“Why is Donka so sure the fault lies with your magic?”

“Family curse,” he said easily. He’d anticipated this; he’d spent sleepless nights concocting not quite lies to make his reality more palatable for her. And, anyway, could anyone really argue his Veela inheritance wasn’t a family curse? 

“That’s not a thing,” she replied easily.

“Of course it is. A pureblood thing,” he said. “All those centuries of only marrying within the Sacred Twenty Eight, family blood curses easily arose and were passed on.”

“Really,” she asked. “Well go on then, let's have it. Tell me all about this family curse.”

_Shit._

“It’s just a remarkable tendency to form magical bonds quite easily.”

“Then why were you so stricken this morning: If this curse is so common, then you knew about it and never thought that my symptoms-- our symptoms-- were related to it? I don’t buy it.” She sat back in her seat and crossed her arms across her chest. He had to look away. He felt like he was walking across broken glass. 

“Can't we just agree I am cursed without me having to open a vein for you?”

Hermione shivered at the low, gravelly quality his voice took on when he said it. She cleared her throat and sat forward to try to distract her from the sudden shift in tension she felt from annoyance to arousal. “Fine,” she agreed. “Then I think we should each make a list of moments we have possibly initiated the beginning of a bond.”

He looked utterly puzzled. “Like what?” he asked. 

“Key moments in our… friendship?” He answered her by dramatically rolling his eyes. “Got any better ideas?” she snapped. 

“Fine. Key moments. Like what?”

“I don’t know, but just start with anything that stands out. When was the first time we made it through after work drinks without getting into an argument?” she asked, hope tinged her voice. “What?” she asked at his look of consternation.   
“Granger. That scenario has literally never happened.”   
_Damn._ He may be right about that. 

“Just try. Please.” There was a pleading quality to her voice she couldn’t stand, but it must have worked because no sooner had she finished speaking than Malfoy’s whole demeanor seemed to soften. He sighed and took out two pieces of delicate parchment from a desk drawer and handed her one. 

“But no peeking,” he said.

“Please,” she snorted. “Like I need to cheat at making a list.”

She was going to need to cheat off his list. He’d put his quill to the parchment almost immediately and hadn’t let up since. She had written a title at the top (“Meaningful Moments”) and then stalled out completely. Puffing out her cheeks in frustration she started listing the events she’d knew they’d both been present for in the last year: Holiday party for the Ministry, birthday dinner and drinks for him, Harry’s birthday, quidditch matches? None of these seemed personal. _Focus. Personal interaction._ A flood of memories surfaced. 

They were uncomfortable because the heavily featured moments of physical intimacy between them. He placed his hand along her lower back as she passed in front of him to get to the bar. He tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow as he walked her home from a bar in Knockturn Alley they’d all decided to go to on a whim. He tugged her ponytail to get her attention at a quidditch game. He angrily wrapped a scarf around her neck when he ran into her walking around without one on while she was shopping in Diagon Alley… and when she was leaving work… sometimes at Quidditch games…

Well, she couldn’t put those down. She started to just shove keywords off in a lower corner all stacked together and illegible (back, scarf, hair, home). She paused. None of these things were outrageous. Hell, if annoying her could force a bond with a wizard, she and Ron would have worked out. Her head felt heavy and cloudy; she rolled her neck. There had to be something she was missing. 

Dancing together rather awkwardly at Ron’s wedding? Draco had seemed like he could barely bring himself to touch her; she’d been furious and ended up having a bit more than was wise and spent the rest of the night dancing with literally anyone else who would humor her to prove she didn’t care if a man she thought she was nearly friends with was apparently disgusted by her. Draco spent the night sitting at the wedding party’s table and glaring at her from his seat. But that was ages ago. Surely there was something else. 

It came to her with a chill of recognition. Several weeks before they started working together, their whole crew went to dinner at a new restaurant in Godric’s Hollow. Seamus and Dean were silent partners in the venture and were instrumental in getting the restaurant approved by the town’s council. The mood was celebratory and, as it so often was for a group of young people who stared death in the face early and often in their youth, suffused with recklessness. Ginny had been giddy to be out and have her mother babysitting the girls. She sat sandwiched between Harry and Hermione all night and when she wasn’t letting her hands wander to Harry’s lap, she was attempting to goad Hermione into being set up with some bloke. Hermione couldn’t recall the name, because she’d been downing glasses of firewhisky at that point. 

They were all shoved in a horseshoe shaped booth and she was at the bottom of the U. Malfoy was pushed in next to Harry and diagonal from her. They’d exchanged several put upon glances that night as the Potters became both increasingly frisky and increasingly more obvious about it. At one point Harry and Ginny were full on making out. She remembered looking at him in horror and his handsome face, the sharp lines softened by alcohol, screwing up with hearty laughter. She knew he was making fun of her, but when he got a hold of himself he smiled brightly at her and gestured for her to come closer. _How?_ She mouthed back to him. Being in a booth she couldn’t very well get around the Potters without ending up on the dinner table. He bit his lip, pointed down, and shrugged. _Under the table! No!_ She gave him a look to communicate just how crazy she thought he was.   
He leaned over as far as he could and said, “Come on, I have an early morning. I’ll take you home.” Well, that sealed it then. She tossed down enough money to cover her meal, wiggled about in her seat a bit, and then was under the table. 

_Shit._ It was really dumb, but she was already down there. It wasn’t like she could pop up next to Malfoy, he wasn’t at the end of the booth. He was blocked in by Susan, Ron, and Justin Finch-Fletchley. What had he meant by telling her to go under the table? She flinched as she heard a deep groan coming from where the Potters were intertwined. With only one exit in sight, she started crawling toward the opening. When she successfully managed to achieve freedom and get out from under the table, it was to find Justin, Ron, and Susan standing in the aisle as they let Malfoy out of the booth and staring at her in concern. Draco was chuckling to himself as he stood. She blushed furiously and gestured to Ginny and Harry who had stopped sucking face long enough to stare at her in puzzlement. She turned and walked toward the door with what she hoped was a polished sort of haughtiness. She was just at the door when Malfoy’s hand reached over her shoulder to push it open for her and his other hand found its way to her lower back. 

Out on the street, she walked determinedly away from him. “Wrong way,” he’d called after her. She huffed. Of course it was the wrong way; her whole life felt like a series of taking all the wrong ways. She remembered him walking with her and talking. She couldn't recall what they talked about. Humiliation made her memories inside the restaurant relatively sharp, but the gentle back and forth of their conversation on their way home was static fuzz. To escort her all the way home, Malfoy walked her to the public floo in Godric’s Hollow, then flooed with her to the Leakey Cauldron, and walked her home to the front steps of her building. This walking her home business was happening with increasing frequency. She didn’t hate it. As companions went, she found him very agreeable. On other occasions he seemed to know how to match her mood: if she was talkative he listened and responded in kind, if she was quiet and not all together cheerful, he tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and walked with her in silence. Try as she might, she could not recall what was said between them that night. She remembered feeling ill from the floo and the inadvisable amount of liquor. She remembered a hum of happiness warming her from the inside. She tried to forget the headache she woke up with the next morning. Had she said something to him? Had she done something untoward? 

She added “Godric’s Hollow” to her list. 

“How’s it coming?” Malfoy asked. She looked up at him miserably. “That good, eh?” He sat back and looked at his own cramped list. She covered her own too slowly, he saw it. “Are you fucking serious? This was your idea, how could you have next to nothing?”

“Well, I don’t know what sort of interaction would trigger a bond!” As soon as she said, she wished she could take it back. “I meant other than, you know, the obvious.”

“Fucking each other silly in an attempt to meld our very souls together,” he supplied with a wicked grin. 

“You’re repugnant.”

“Do go on. I love a little dirty talk. Really gets me going.”

“I think we need a pensieve,” she stated. That brought him up short. “What? Why?” 

“We can go through the lists and each pull our memories of each occasion. Then we can examine our own recollection as well as the other party’s recollection. There should be an echo of feeling in the memories, so in theory we could _feel_ when things changed. Maybe.”

She watched as Draco appeared to fold in on himself with a sigh. “That’s quite a good idea.”

“Thank you,” she said warmly. “I’m very sorry it won’t work,” he added. She looked at him carefully. He wasn’t sneering or smirking; he looked defeated. 

“Well it may not be as clear cut as we’d like and there’s always a chance we haven’t recalled the right memory, but I think it is worth a --”

“I occlude, Granger,” he said. “It won’t work.”   
  
“Well, I know you’re very gifted at it. I mean Harry’s told me as much, but what--”

“No.” He sighed, “Hermione, look at me.” She met his gaze with a puzzled look. “I _am_ occluding.”

“What, like right now?” she asked. At his nod, she leaned in closer to get a better look at his eyes. 

“I’m always occluding,” he admitted. 

“That’s not physically possible,” she said dismissively. “It would exhaust you and leave you utterly devoid of energy.” 

“Fine. Then I am _nearly_ always occluding. There will be a distance to my memories because of that. We won’t be able to feel them the way we would yours.”

That’s all he needed. Granger traipsing about in his memories of her over the past few years. Feeling what he felt in the memories? Absolutely not. He hoped what he said about occlusion was true enough to buy himself some time. Granger seemed to be studying the wood grain of the table top. It was warped and stretched; it made his extension charm on the desk obvious to anyone looking for it. 

“Malfoy, do you occlude most of the time in every situation,” she looked up at him steadily, “or just when you’re stuck with me? And I can’t be trusted.” 

“It isn’t specific to you,” he insisted truthfully. He couldn’t bear letting her think he only did it to guard against her. “I trust you. I do. It is just something I do.”

“It is an incredibly difficult piece of magic to master and use when you need it, why the hell are you doing it all the time?” Just then an owl came to the window. Malfoy got up to let it in through one of the large window panes. Two pieces of parchment rolled together. 

“It is just instinctual at this point,” he claimed.

“How?” her frustration at being confused spilled over. “When did you start this?”

“I’ve been successfully able to Occlude since the winter holiday in our fifth year.”

“That’s outrageous,” she said with a sniff.

“It was necessary.” He unfurled the parchments. The copy of the law and a note from Theo: _Complete chaos. May have been wrong about it being awhile before we hear anything._ “Theo says the Ministry is a mess and they may have misjudged the timing on letters going out with the particular stipulations.” He held the copy of the law out to her. She sighed and took it, but kept her gaze steadily on him. 

“How?” she asked incredulously. “How did you manage to Occlude that young?

Affronted, he asked, “Why are you so suspicious when your own precious Potter was learning the same thing at the exact same time?”

“He literally had a piece of the darkest wizard of all time lodged in his soul. He could talk to snakes Malfoy, please don’t pretend your situations were similar. How’d you manage it?”

“Because I had to. Because Voldemort was back and he would turn me into a weapon to be used against my family if I couldn’t keep him away from the important stuff.” He could feel himself trembling; his body was tensed all over ready for fight or flight. His walls were impenetrable. 

“I didn’t realize it started so early,” Granger admitted. “I thought it started the summer before 6th year.”

“Branding a boy with a tattoo is hardly the first step in the recruitment process, Granger. “ They sat in silence for a few moments as Granger continued to stare at her mostly blank list of what she’d titled “Meaningful Moments.” He could write a book of moments they’d shared that were meaningful to him. He felt a headache coming on. 

He used his wand to cast a silent summoning charm on her paper. He had it in hand before she could complain. It barely made sense. Most of her notes appeared to crunched single words. Scarf? He recognized some things. Weasley's wedding had been an absolute nightmare for him. 

“Granger, how can we compare memories, if all you’ve done is write down articles of clothing.”

“Its a signal word,” she said primly.

“Great. Explain the memory associated with it.” At his suggestion, she flushed scarlet. Interesting. “I’m waiting.”

“Fine. You let me borrow your scarf.”

“When?”

“What?”

“I’ve forced you into my scarf more than a few times over the years. So which specific time do you think may have triggered the bond?” 

“Well, when you say it like that, it feels a little silly. A scarf couldn’t be important enough to do that.”

He heartily disagreed. Granger's inability to check the weather and dress appropriately led him to wrapping her up in his scarf and his scent frequently. It was reprehensible how much pleasure he got from wrapping the scarf around her and smelling his scent mingling with hers. She would always return the scarf later in the day or the next day, and it took all of Draco’s considerable self control to wait until he was alone to bury his face in the scarf. The first time this happened, he wasn’t prepared for the onslaught of feedback his Creature would be giving him. It raised its ugly head and salivated at the thought of living inside that mingled scent forever. _Mate, Mate Mate._ He’d come untouched and shook in the aftermath.

From his standpoint, Draco thought the damn scarf sharing sounded like a pretty good instigator for their unusual bond. He looked further down the list. _Godric’s Hollow._

“Godric’s Hollow? Is this the booth night?” He couldn’t help the wide smile that lit across his face. Granger was not as amused. “Come on, it was a great night.” It was one of the last nights they all had together before things went sideways. “Why do you look so upset about this?” 

She couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d embarrassed herself someway beyond just crawling under a table that night. “Malfoy, If it is your curse, does that mean the action that spurred it on is, well… that is to say... Did I do something untoward?“

“Untoward?” he asked with a mischievous grin.

“I’d had a lot to drink and I don’t recall all of the details of when you took me home,” she admitted. “Did I throw myself at you? Or force myself on you in anyway?”

His look settled into one of concern. She could feel her face doing that awful crumply thing it did when she got upset. “Is it my fault then?” she just barely got the words out. “The curse makes you susceptible to bonding, but it is my actions that caused it?”

He was frozen. She looked so conflicted while she was struggling to get her question out; what was the harm in dropping his walls just a little? He was inundated with her confusion and there was pain in it. His walls were gone and he could feel his creature reaching for her. He rounded the table and sank to his knees in front of her. He grasped her hands tightly and willed her to keep it together. He knew a breaking Hermione Granger would tumble his carefully built defenses and have him apologizing over and over again as he explained he was a monster. 

“Stop,” he tried to imbue the word with power, but it sounded plaintive to his own ears. “Please, don’t do this to yourself. It doesn’t work like that.” He let go of one of her hands to wipe away a stray tear that escaped the corner of her eye. “It is my curse and you got tangled in it. That’s all, love.”

She closed her eyes and turned her face into his palm. He flinched away, but her free hand was there holding him to her to cup her face. She kissed the base of his thumb; her lips a whisper against his roughened skin. A whisper with the impact of a _Bombarda._ He shuddered as he lay his head in her lap. He released her other hand and wrapped his arm around the back of her legs as she began running that hand through his hair with delicate strokes. He was weak, powerless to stop this. 

“What did I do?” she asked into the skin of his palm. She doubled over, her head next to his, one hand with a death grip on his hand and the other buried in his hair and latching onto him. 

“You didn’t. You didn’t throw yourself at me. And it isn’t you. Donka’s right: whatever action triggered this, is my fault. We just need to find a way to stabilize everything for now. Okay?” They stayed like that for awhile. Draco didn't need to wonder what she was feeling: he was stuck in a constant feedback loop. Her scent, her emotions, fleeting glimpses of thoughts. This was what he’d been cut off from all this time he was building his walls and occluding. 

They separated when Misty came in with a cart of food for lunch and Tilly went to gently wake Donka. 

Draco stood up on shaky legs and pulled Hermione from her seat to follow him to where the elves were setting up lunch on the coffee table; he was unwilling to let her go completely. She paused and pulled him to a stop. 

“We should read over the law.” 

He nodded and, remembering at the last minute to use his wand, he summoned the copy of the law, blank parchment and quills to trail behind them. When Hermione tried to grab the law before she sat down to eat, it danced away from her teasingly. 

“Eat first, then we’ll study,” he said easily. He was treated to miffed little eye-roll, but they sat and began serving themselves. Donka sat up on the chaise, bleary eyed, but with a plate of sandwiches in her lap. She examined them carefully from her perch, nodded her head once, and declared, “It's looking better.”

“What’s looking better?” Hermione asked. 

“The forecast,” she replied with a wink. Draco snorted. The old woman was batty, but she kept him well stocked with the Veela-strength replenishment and calming potions in his desk and he supposed after all these years she was a bit like family. 

“I think you may be right, Donka,” he said.   
  
She frowned at him, blinked twice, and said, “Eat your damn lunch.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who is reading! I'm sorry this was a little rushed-- work was pretty hectic this week, but should calm down soon.
> 
> That being said this next week is going to absolutely suck, so there will likely be an itty bitty update Wednesday night and then nothing until Sunday again.


	10. Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten

“How has your research been going, Hermione?” Narcissa asked. It was four days later and Hermione was having afternoon tea in the garden with Narcissa and Andromeda. Teddy was along to explore the garden. The day was perfect with clear skies and a gentle breeze. Hermione glanced up to the grand window of the library and held back her desire to sigh. The research was uninspiring.

Since her tearful breakdown in the library while trying to brainstorm ideas to explain her connection with Draco, he’d been distant. Immediately following the incident he’d been kind and attentive. He sat with his knee pressed up against her’s through lunch. He listened to her read through the Marriage law and wrote notes on the observations she made. Hermione had been struck by how _gentle_ this Draco was. This Draco who curled into her when she was upset was a revelation. So, naturally, he’d disappeared completely by dinner time and had kept his distance since.

They still worked in the library together, but Draco had drawn up two lists of specific clauses for them to research on their own. “Divide and conquer, and all that,” he said lamely. Then he managed to disappear for hours at a time each day; ostensibly he was going to Grimmauld Place to meet with Harry and the other aurors. They were no more closer to figuring out who set fire to her flat than right after it burned down. It had been a rough few days.

“The Marriage and Family Act that the Wizengamot forced through appears to be… slapdash, but structurally sound,” Hermione admitted. Andromeda looked at her sharply. “Well that’s clear as a cauldron. What does that mean?” she asked. Narcissa glanced between the two and kept silent. 

“Well, I think Draco said it best when he said the Ministry appeared to build the law from the bottom up around my previous arguments against it. Every argument I ever presented publicly on the courtroom floor or shouted at them in private has been carefully …”

“Dismantled?” Andromeda asked.

“More like… considered, cited, and overruled in the text of the law itself,” Hermione replied. “But in other ways it is truly sloppy. There are kinds of--” she broke off searching for the right term, “missing pieces.”

Narcissa held her teacup aloft in thought as she considered this. “Hermione, what are they saying authorizes them to interfere at all?’

“The Recovery Act,” she clenched her teeth around the words. The law greatly expanded the Minister’s power and to a lesser extent the Wizengamot’s. That had been her breaking point the first time she and Draco went through the law together. Hermione’s public testimony and articles in the Daily Prophet were key to passing the Recovery Act in 1998 and instrumental to its reauthorization just last year. She was incensed that the law she’d fought for, that had done so much good in their world, would now forever be labeled a failure. The same law that established the orphanage, introduced a consistent and compulsory pre-Hogwarts curriculum for young witches and wizards, made Muggle Studies a core curriculum requirement for first through fifth years so that every young witch and wizard would have to sit for an OWL in it, was now an instrument of a government run repopulation effort. 

“That’s an outrage,” Andromeda said. “I cannot imagine what you’re all going through right now.” Andromeda was past childbearing age and therefore excluded from the bill. Only witches between the ages of 19 and 40 were impacted. The system lost some of its structure when one considered wizards. Age regulations weren’t formally part of the law’s language; there was a lot of language about the “best blood match.” Hermione hoped for all the young witches that men in their sixties or older would automatically be considered a discounted by whatever magical device the ministry was using to complete the analysis. 

“They try to make it all sound very reasonable,” Hermione said as she turned her cup in her saucer. She knew the sound aggravated Draco, but he wasn’t here. “They present the data, which yes, does appear a bit alarming. ‘Lowest birthrate on record’... ‘smallest incoming class of Hogwarts students’... ‘a threat to the continuation of our society’. What they don’t address is the root cause. Obviously no one really fancied having a lot of babies eleven years ago, things had already started to go to shit.” She heard a mischievous giggle and turned around in her chair to see Teddy’s face watching her from behind a shrub. “Sorry, Teddy! Don’t tell Harry you heard me say that, alright?” The boy just ducked behind the shrub again. “Anyway,” she continued, “there’s no explanation or credence given to other theories. So they’re using the statistics to prop up what is really at play: an anti-purist agenda meant to punish and eradicate the old guard purebloods.”

“Which I would imagine most would support,”Narcissa mused. “Well, I for one do not support it,” Hermione stated. “Narcissa, you and your son have been very kind to me. Draco and I have been getting along well for a few years now, really. But you have to consider how many others still believe I am filth and witches and wizards like me don’t deserve the magic we’re born with.”

“Surely most people have... “ Narcissa let her voice trail off as she caught Hermione shaking her head vigorously. 

“They really haven’t. You should ask Draco about being assigned to go through my mail when he first started as an Auror. I think he only had to get hit with bubotuber pus twice before he learned to keep a protective screen between himself and the letters.” Narcissa’s registered this bit of information with a look of unhappy surprise. Hermione continued, “To partner these dreadful people with unsuspecting half-bloods and muggleborns…” Andromeda watched Teddy’s blue head duck in and out of view along the garden path. She asked, “What does the meat of the law contain? The Prophet is still glossing over it; it makes me wonder if they’ve been able to get their hands on a copy of the law yet themselves.”

“All witches and wizards deemed of suitable age and health will be assigned a list of seven potential matches. The matches are chosen to ensure purebloods will be forced to marry and procreate with only muggleborns or half-bloods. The aim is creating a more tolerant world by forcing it on us and leaving us with little legal protection and recourse. Letters informing citizens of their standing and their matches will be staggered in waves. Once your letter arrives, you have thirty days to evaluate your matches and form a formal engagement agreement. From the day of your formal engagement you have 60 days to draft and accept a marriage contract as well as plan and carry out a traditional wedding bonding ceremony to be witnessed by at least two ministry officials.” 

Narcissa sighed and sat back in her chair. As she looked out at the garden she acknowledged, “that’s not much time.”

“It's no time,” Hermione supplied. “The marriage must be consummated and the consummation must be recorded by the Ministry. You get three years to produce your first child before the Ministry steps in to help ‘manage the situation’ and all couples are required to produce at least two children in the first 6 years. There is a provision that states eligible couples may dissolve their union once their youngest child begins attending Hogwarts.”

“Well that’s something,” Andromeda stated wide eyed. “Divorce really doesn’t happen in our world and now it’ll be Ministry sanctioned.”

Narcissa grimaced and said dryly, “What a win for progress. Hermione, did they indicate what would make a couple eligible for dissolution?”

“Of course not, or we may all strategically choose our matches on who we’d have to be stuck with for the least amount of time.”

“So they are telling you there is an escape they aren’t going to let any of us know how one qualifies.”

“Correct.” She sighed deeply. “That’s not the worst. Those missing pieces? There are no provisions for magical people who don’t fall neatly into the Ministry’s tidy categories. If you are in a relationship now and you want to marry that person, you have to hope like hell they happen to end up on your list or apply for a special license which I have to think would likely be denied, since no one knows what criteria beyond blood is being considered to narrow your choices down to seven!” Hysterical. She sounded overwhelmed and was quickly tipping over into hysterical. She desperately tried not to think of her own list folded tightly and slipped into the inside pocket of her robes. “Theo is in a loving relationship with a partner he cannot physically procreate with, what happens to him? They’ll allow him to apply for refuge in other countries, but he’ll be stripped of his citizenship here and blocked from the floo or apparating.” 

“That’s horrific,” Narcissa whispered. “Is that the fate for all who cannot comply?” Hermione nodded. 

Silence settled over the table. They picked at their food and went through the motions, but the pleasant atmosphere was gone. Hermione felt mostly to blame. She knew she was incapable of speaking dispassionately on most subjects just as she knew this quality rarely endeared her to anyone. Looking for a more agreeable topic she glanced at the Library window again. Her stomach flipped with anticipation. “Draco’s been attending meetings as Grimmauld. I think he may be rejoining the Aurors.” If Hermione had been hoping to completely end the afternoon she could not have chosen a better way. Andromeda choked on her tea and Narcissa dropped her cup onto the saucer with a clatter.

“Impossible, Ms. Granger,” Narcissa bit out. Hermione stiffened at the sudden formality. “My son attacked his partner while in the field. He compromised their mission and landed his partner in St. Mungo’s for three days. They made it quite clear he won’t be returning.” Hermione, shocked, looked to Andromeda. “It’s true,” Andromeda said. “Personally, I cannot believe they let him move to Corporate Services.” 

“Attacked his…? But he was partnered with Justin.” It didn’t make sense. Justin had been hanging about Harry, Ron, and Draco for ages. Surely, if there was a problem between Justin and Draco it would have been obvious before they had to entrust their lives to one another. 

_“_ Justin must have done something dreadful,” Hermione told Narcissa with conviction. “Draco would never act so rashly unprovoked. His self-control is astonishing. Even now I’m having trouble imagining what Justin must have done --” She was brought up short by the feel of Narcissa’s hand laid over her own. She was glassy eyed and appeared to be wrestling against her emotions. “Thank you, Hermione,” she said. 

After that enlightening moment, tea was truly over. Hermione removed herself with an excuse about needing to talk to Donka. Narcissa let it slip that Donka was talking about the need for another diagnostic test regardless of how Draco felt about it. Then Hermione really did need to find and talk to Donka. Hermione snuck past the library where she assumed Draco was still working and made her way to the third floor to find Donka’s quarters. She refused to let Draco try to mitigate her pain again and she had every reason to believe he insist on being there.  
  
  


Breakfast earlier that morning had been just the two of them. Hermione suspected neither of them slept well in the normal course of things; her own sleep had been tinged with blood and screaming. Though they were both up early, neither one spoke much to the other. They were content to eat in peace. The morning post came for both of them and Draco got lost in the Daily Prophet while Hermione read through a detailed letter from Luna describing what sounded like invisible pixies who were influenced by the moon. It was a typically diverting letter and she didn’t notice that under her own copy of the morning’s Prophet lay her letter from the Ministry. 

When she reached the stiff parchment sealed with the official purple security wax seal of the Minister’s office, she glanced at Draco. He was still thoroughly engrossed on his paper. She couldn’t even make out the top of his head over the top anymore. She pressed her thumb to the purple wax until, having confirmed her identity, it melted away. She skipped the opening paragraphs to get to the names listed in a single column below the legal speak. Seven names. Except there appeared to be quite a few more than seven. She went back to the last paragraph and read. “... in deference to your standing in the Wizarding world.... In recognition for your contributions in the war…”

Bloody fantastic. They were making her an exception. There were twelve names. Half appeared to be purebloods and there were a few she might be able to pick out in a crowd: Blaise Zabini, Corbin Greengrass, and Charlie Weasley among them. The rest didn’t match the purpose of the law: Terry Boot, Michael Corner, Justin Finch-Fletchley, and Cormac McLaggen. They were attempting to buy her silence by giving her “better” options than she had any right to expect. 

“What’s wrong?” Draco asked. He creased his paper and looked at her with worry practically radiating from him; absently she wondered when she started believing she could feel what he felt. 

“My list came,” she replied steadily. Draco’s inscrutable gaze studied her. “That bad?” he asked.

“That real, I suppose. I mean I knew it was coming, but… and I’m absolutely nixing some of them. I’d Avada myself before I let Cormac paw at me again.” She tried to smile, but it was shaky and unsure. “Academically, obviously I knew it was coming.” He snorted; they’d done little else but study the law since acquiring a copy. She continued, “I really believed in a better world. I fought for it and I tried so hard to--” she tossed her letter on the table in front of her.

“You fought against this so hard, Granger. You were tremendous on the courtroom floor.” She nodded in recognition, but not agreement. He continued, “They’re all bloody fools.” He gestured to her list. “Do you mind?” He reached for it and began to read through her list. He growled lowly. 

“I know! Please, just, no talk about special treatment right now, okay? I know it isn’t fair they gave me so many matches.” Miraculously, he held his tongue; though, she noticed he did not look pleased about it. He wrinkled his nose in disgust and conjured a quill out of seemingly empty air. He took his quill and began scratching through names. “Oh really, Draco.You're adding notes now too? Very mature. Thank you,” she rolled her eyes. He tossed the parchment back to her. 

“Anytime. Now, we have another titillating day of research ahead of us, Ms. Granger. See you in the library.” He gathered his coffee in hand, his mail in the other, and headed out the door. 

Hermione glanced at her now defaced official Ministry Marriage list. There were not any notes as she'd thought, just each and every name scratched out methodically and a new name added. It was handwritten in even, controlled bold strokes: Draco L. Malfoy.

Hermione rubbed the crease of the letter absently as she came upon the door to Donka’s sitting room. The door was left open about six inches; men’s voices rumbled from within. She grasped her wand and shoved her letter deep into the pocket of her robe. She focused on her breathing and tried to remember that, despite her own wish to watch the Ministry burn, they were not presently at war. The muffled voices continued. It was Theo and Draco. 

“... fool can see it is getting worse!” Theo’s voice was harder than Hermione could ever recall hearing before. 

“I’m handling it,” Draco’s voice was gruff like he was trying to swallow his words even as they escaped. 

Donka snapped, “And you don’t have to!” A pause and then, “You think I don’t see the rate the potions are disappearing, Draco? You play a dangerous game.”

“It is going to be too late,” Theo was desperate. 

“I have until I’m thirty,” Draco said. This time his voice was clear. 

“According to two documents that are hundreds of years old!” Theo shouted. 

“Draco,” Donka called his attention to her. “It is natural for all creatures to fear and fight death. You may have escaped such petty concerns, but I promise you, your Veela has not. You have kept it caged nearly a decade already! If you don’t claim your mate soon, your Veela is going to do something drastic. I don’t know how you’ve made it this long.” Silence.

“He always said it was easy to cage the beast,” Theo reported hollowly, “when the alternative is ruining his mate’s life and making her an object of public commentary.”

“Stupid boy!” Donka exclaimed. 

Still hidden, Hermione leaned heavily against the cool wood of the door frame. Draco was a Veela with a mate. She’d worked long enough in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures to know there were few bonds stronger or more dangerous. 

She crumpled the letter in her pocket, took a steadying breath, and opened the door. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Black Lives Matter. 
> 
> We live in a dumpster fire.  
> Thank you so much to everyone reading, reviewing, bookmarking and leaving kudos for making it feel a little less like one. <3
> 
> I'm sorry this chapter is so short, but this week is extraordinarily messy for work and mental health reasons. I hope to have the next update Sunday, but it will likely be pretty late Sunday.


	11. Chapter Eleven

_CHAPTER 11_

“Any fool can see it is getting worse!” Theo snarled. 

It was an ambush. 

Draco had gone to Donka’s sitting room for a standing appointment to pick up his weekly potions and found her waiting there with a full tea service and a rather prickly looking Theo. The conversation escalated quickly and Draco’s already shaky control dwindled with his patience. His talons and fangs were bared as he tried to insist he was just fine. 

“I’m handling it,” he got out around his fangs. Donka rolled her eyes and snapped, “And you don’t have to!” A pause and then, “You think I don’t see the rate the potions are disappearing, Draco? You play a dangerous game.” It was true they had a standing appointment for him to check in and pick up the next week’s potions, and yes the number seemed to be increasing exponentially over the past year. Even now he could feel pressure building in his skull and a destiny ringing in his ear. The side effects made it difficult to maintain his walls; it was a distraction he could ill afford. 

“It is going to be too late,” Theo insisted.

Annoyed at Theo’s tone, he fought back his fangs. “I have until I’m thirty,” he said clearly.

“According to two documents that are hundreds of years old!” Theo shouted as he paced the length of the room; he looked disheveled and exhausted. Guiltily, Draco recalled Theo would soon face losing his country and the only home he’d ever had in the name of love.

“Draco,” Donka called his attention to her. She sat on the edge of her armchair, her hands gripping her cane one atop the other, poised to leap up and either defend him or slap him as the occasion called for it. “It is natural for all creatures to fear and fight death. You may have escaped such petty concerns, but I promise you, your Veela has not. You have kept it caged nearly a decade already! If you don’t claim your mate soon, your Veela is going to do something drastic. I don’t know how you’ve made it this long.” He felt his creature shuddering miserably in recognition of its suffering. _Pathetic monster._

“He always said it was easy to cage the beast,” Theo said woodenly, “when the alternative is ruining his mate’s life and making her an object of public commentary.”

“Stupid boy!” Donka exclaimed. 

Yes, maybe he was stupid, but he would not make Hermione Granger a martyr. Honestly, he was feeling a little hopeful after he’d written his name on her list this morning. Of course, he’d hoped the Ministry would put his name on her list by their own volition, but as it hadn’t, he thought this was a good alternative. It was a declaration of sorts, but it kept the power to decide with her. If she chose him, he was confident he could pay off the key players in order to make it seem like he’d been on her list all along. He was about to say as much when he saw in his periphery the door to the sitting room swing open.

Hermione.

She was furious. Her neck was mottled red and her hands clenched fiercely at her side. He heard Theo mutter a swear under his breath. out. His heart screeched to a halt as soon as he processed the rage coming off of her. It felt like hot waves passing through him; it smelled like rancid. No one breathed and the seconds stretched. Draco knew he should explain, knew he should take control of the situation, but found he couldn’t. When pressed, his creature was frustratingly simple in what it understood. This was his mate. She hated him.

Rejection wouldn’t kill him flat out. Thank every ancestor and deity for that bit of luck, but eventually he would lose his faculties. This was according to the texts Theo so recently maligned. He couldn’t find any evidence that there was ever a male Veela who remained unmated long enough to die. _Always wanted to come in first at something,_ he thought bitterly. Absently, out of habit, he checked his walls. Secure. 

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest steeling herself for a fight. “You’re a Veela.” An accusation. 

Nodding, Draco whispered a barely audible, “Yes.”

“You’ve been suppressing your Veela for a decade.” Another accusation. He said nothing. She glanced at Theo and Donka. “You knew.” She curled her upper lip in disgust and spat, “Get out.” Theo sighed heavily and walked past Hermione, wisely giving her a wide berth. At the door he glanced back, but it was look at Hermione, not Draco. Donka muttered to herself as she grabbed a plate of tea cakes and ambled over to the door. She pulled it closed behind her. Hermione whipped around, brandishing her wand and warding the room.

“What were you thinking?” She turned to him once more. “Do you have any idea--” she broke off at the sight of him. Really looking at him, he looked delicate as though he may shatter at any moment. His sallow skin, his sharp cheekbones, and fevered quicksilver eyes... She saw it now: how he’d been fading over time. He was so much less vibrant than he was just a year ago. How often, when out for drinks or meals at Harry and Ginny’s, had she excused it as exhaustion? She blamed it on his dedication to the Aurors. She blamed it on late nights. Recently, she blamed it on their connected cores that were sickening them both. 

“That's why you knew it wasn’t me,” she said, stunned. “That I’m not the reason our cores bonded you are.” 

Draco’s jaw twitched. He bit out, “I said as much.”  
  
“Yes, but you neglected to mention that you’ve been _suppressing_ a Veela for a decade! Did it occur to you, maybe while I was sobbing, that it might be worth mentioning that you are a Veela? A decade! Merlin, Draco, you must be desperate for the bond of your mate.”

Draco took a controlled breath through his mouth. “Which explains the bond.”

“You let us all pointlessly research parasitic bonds -- knowing full well exactly what the problem was!” She threw her hands up. “What the fuck?”

“It wasn’t pointless. My mother and Donka were specifically looking at Veela bonds--”

“Great, so I was the only idiot grasping for clues to a problem that doesn’t exist.” She scrubbed her hands over her face and looked at the ceiling. “You _need_ your mate, Draco. No Veela has ever been documented lasting so long without their mate.” She looked at him and tried to set aside her anger. This was Malfoy: her sometimes friend, her coworker, her… _Malfoy._ But now there was this: he was a dying Veela. She traced over his patrician features, stoic and drawn, he appeared to be made of marble. Of course he knew he was dying. He just didn’t seem to care. 

“All this time--” her voice broke, “You’ve been killing yourself... all this time.” He shuddered another audible breath, but stared into the middle distance and didn’t meet her eyes. “You are killing yourself, and you don’t care.” 

“No,” he said.   
A conflagration took hold of her heart. “Then tell me what you would call it when a Veela crushes their need and their instincts for ten years,” she shouted. “Merlin, Draco! It shouldn’t even be physically possible. How many potions does Donka have you on, hmm?” She could feel what little of her self-control remained slipping away. She wanted to rage and scream at him until he told her she misunderstood. She wanted him to convince her this was all a lie. 

“It’s not that bad,” he said. He put his hands in his pants pockets, but she could tell they were clenched. Hiding. “Show me,” she said. “Show me how in control you are,” she goaded. “Let me see your hands!” He stood stonily refusing to move. “And your mate… what of them?” she asked. He shook his head once. His mouth remained firmly clamped shut. He was perfectly still. She recognized it now. He was seamlessly occluded and locked up. 

Gasping, trying to regain a sense of control, she sat on the edge of a settee and bent over with her hands clasped tightly together. 

“You have _rights._ You should have a liaison. You aren’t even fucking registered are you?” she asked hopelessly. When she looked up, his face was pinched in an ugly sneer and he’d become that little boy she’d once known in school.

“No, Granger. I don’t have a fucking liaison and I don’t have a liaison because I’m not particularly keen on being _handled_ nor do I care for my _monster_ rights.” The venom laced words reminded her of his younger self, too. Hateful. Closed. Cruel.

She stared at him, “A monster. How can you say that?”

He growled and flashed his fangs, but he kept his hands firmly pocketed. 

“So what?” she asked. “Why should that make you a monster?”

“Don’t be daft, Granger. I’m a fucking Creature.”

Hermione released a pent up growl of her own, standing and curling her hands before her into mock claws of her own as if she could rip into him. “Being, Draco. Veela are classified as Beings by the Ministry of Magic!”

“And the Ministry of Magic says Veela are beautiful women native to Bulgaria,” he said dryly.

“Donka.” 

“Yes, Ms. Balakov is a Bulgarian Veela Expert hired by my mother years ago to somehow save me or, alternatively, annoy me into an early grave. As you’ve seen, she has since become something like a nosy and obnoxious grandmother.”

“Then she must have told you--”

“Granger, the ministry wouldn’t know what to do with me,” he growled. “You should stay out of this. It doesn’t concern you.”

Looking back, she couldn’t quite identify the source of her unbridled rage, but in that moment she felt as if she was burning from the inside out with fury. The table, complete with full tea service, shot it across the room to bounce off the doors to the room while the delicate porcelain smashed and shattered. 

“How dare you tell me it is none of my concern.” She panted furiously. “You’ve somehow tethered yourself to me.” The world was narrowing to his pale, pointed face. “What happens to me if you die?”  
“You’ll be free. There’s no evidence that my death should kill you at all.” His voice deepened and rasped around the fangs.   
  
“And how am I going to be after watching my friend die?”

“Is that what we are? Friends?” he scoffed.

“Of course!” she insisted. 

  
The room spun. Of course. Friends.

Hermione Granger was glorious in her fury, stunning in her loyalty, and absolutely going to be the death of him. He was in a free fall; the walls weren’t holding. Her outburst of uncontrolled magic physically hurt him. He felt as though his skin was pricked with a thousand needles at once in one moment and then as if he’d been awake for a week the next. 

“I want their name. Your mate.”

And that? That felt like hot knives sliding between his ribs slowly. His reality was so ludicrous to her, despite all the evidence, despite their _already_ imperfectly bonded cores, she asked who his mysterious mate was. 

“And what would you do with that information?” His chest was tight, burning. Fuck, he needed a calming draught. 

“Talk to them.”

He snorted. “What would you say to her?” He was a glutton for punishment. 

That brought her up short. She blinked at him, confused. She opened her mouth, but said nothing. 

“Right.” He glanced around the room; Donka’s potions should be nearby. They should have been in a bag, shrunken so he could take them with him. 

“Draco, I’d start by telling her she was incredibly lucky. To be the mate of a Veela… It is one of nature’s most sacred and incredible bonds.” He snorted. “It is! I don’t know what that-- that-- charlatan billing herself as your healer told you, but your bond with your mate will be a pure and wholesome fusion of your magic with hers. Once bonded, you’ll be able to reach out to one another mentally, despite the distance between you. She’s your perfect complement; the person who brings you into balance. Draco, I don’t know that you can ever hope to be truly happy without her. More than that, you cannot live without her. There aren’t any documented cases!”

“You know that … how exactly?” he drawled in a dead perfect imitation of Lucius. 

“Oh please, I toiled away for years in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.” He gave a sarcastic raise of one perfect white blonde brow. “Indeed.”

“It’s just because Creatures are the biggest division! You. Are. A. Being.”

“No,” he lifted his hands from his pockets and revealed his twisted hands and deadly talons, “I am a beast.’   
“A being!” she stamped her foot and felt a shard of the tea service crunch as she stepped forward to Draco. “Stop it.”

“I am a creature. A thing less than human,” he pushed himself closer to her. His walls were in shambles. She smelled faintly of the garden. Then there was the scent of his library, parchment and ink that lingered about her these days. Underneath that was the scent he thought of as _her:_ lavender mint shampoo and toasted almond pastry. Her scent haunted him if he wasn’t careful to block it out. Glancing helplessly around the room for his potions, he removed his wand from his suit jacket and tried to wordlessly summon a calming draught to him. Nothing. His stomach lurched. He tried again to summon a replenishment potion. Nothing. Fuck Donka. Once more, he tried to summon a pain potion. Nothing except the anxiety of knowing he was about to be ill. 

“Granger,” he said. “Get Donka.” He couldn’t feel his legs. 

“We are not done, Malfoy.” 

“Hermione, please.” He fell back in the armchair. 

His blood felt as though it were burning within his veins. 

“What do you need?” she asked. A cool hand brushed his hair back from his forehead. “What do you think you need from her?”

“Potions,” he lisped weakly around his fangs. As she drew her hand away, he felt a whine building in his chest. He heard her talking to someone, but couldn’t see her. The room was hazy, he worried it was the mist that sometimes appeared with Hermione’s outbursts, but she seemed fine. It was just him. He couldn’t focus his gaze on anything. 

“Misty is bringing your potions, Malfoy,” she said. Then she faded away from him. 

He was wracked with muscle tremors. Sweat beaded his forehead and dripped down the side of his face. He’d asked for Donka, but wasn’t that witch complicit in this? He was sick, terribly so. The potions must have been covering so much for so long. She wondered why she hadn’t noticed when they were in the office. Here in his home it was only too easy to lose one another or sneak off for a moment. At the Ministry though… how had she not realized he was drugged to the gills with potions? 

Misty reappeared. Hermione held out her hands but the elf went to Draco directly and climbed onto the armrest of his chair to begin administering the potions. The little elf gently levitated each glass bottle down to the floor after she was done with it, and smoothed her hands across her master’s face lovingly. She muttered words Hermione couldn’t catch. 

“Misty, does this happen often?” Hermione asked. The little elf shook her head vigorously. Her already wet eyes spilled over with silent tears.  
  
“Misty cannot say, Missus.”

“Misty, he’s dangerously sick. He’s been … irresponsible with his health. Please, anything you can tell me--”

“No, Missus. It is the only order. Misty and Tilly are to obey Missus in all things, but we must not talk about Master’s Creature.” 

“Oh really? And when was that order given?” she snapped. Misty shook her head. 

“Leave her alone, Granger,” he rasped.

Her anger with him still simmered beneath the surface, but she asked, “How are you feeling?”

“Like the witch my magical core is parasitically connected to overdrew on it when she decided to redecorate the room.” He squeezed his eyes closed. “I feel the way a newborn thestral looks, Granger. Your precious Hagrid ever show you one of them? Not young, I mean truly brand new, wet with membrane and blood. They’re fucking weak.”

She wrinkled her nose. “I can help you back to your quarters,” she offered.

“You’ve done quite enough,” he sneered. “Misty and I will manage just fine.”

  
  
  
They disappeared with a pop and she was left standing in the wreckage. She grasped her wand from its holster and set about repairing the tea service and taking down her wards.. As she headed down to the library, her anger reignited as she thought of how the house elves, Donka, and Narcissa were co-conspirators in Draco’s suicide mission. Hell, if she remembered the look Andromeda shared with Narcissa at lunch, she must know too.

In the library, she went directly to the workstation they’d been laboring over for the past few days and shoved everything aside. She picked up a clean sheet of parchment and one of Draco’s outrageously fancy quills. She began brainstorming a plan of attack. 

She could not allow Draco to fade away and die; she felt like someone was digging crooked rusty nails into her stomach at the thought. She fully intended to present him with a detailed plan to save him. If he was willing to go along with it, so much the better, but his enthusiastic consent would not be necessary. She broke the nib of the quill she was using and reached across Draco’s notes that she’d shoved aside in her haste. Theo’s name caught her eye. His name was written on a list.

• LGBTQA considerations→ Get Theo out of this

• Werewolf considerations → Track Greyback’s victims… do they have rights in this?

• Creature considerations→ no acknowledgement of creatures or bonds in current law. 

Oh Merlin, Draco’s name wasn’t on her list. It didn’t surprise her that he hadn’t been. She was mildly disappointed, but then he’d gone and written himself on, so she figured that was a declaration of sorts. But Draco wasn’t on her list. He may not be on any list. Veela certainly didn’t seem to be written into the law or to have had an opportunity to weigh in on how the law would impact them. 

When she worked in the Department, she had the list of Veela living in Britain memorized. They were not her purview but she was so eager to please and wanted to be as widely read as possible on every possible scenario that could arise. There were so few. 

She knocked softly on the door before letting herself into the guest room. Draco was propped up against pillows in the bed. His fangs and claws were gone, and the color had returned to his face somewhat, but his eyes were glassy and unfocused. 

“Malfoy?” He didn’t reply. “Draco, I came to apologize for my outburst.”

“Don’t bother,” he slurred. “I know you didn’t mean to hurt me. You can’t.” 

“Malfoy, I was working on a plan--” he snorted derisively at this “-- and I came across your notes about some of the missing parts of the Marriage Law. You know about Theo, and werewolves--”

“And me?” he asked sarcastically.   
  
“Well, yes. Do you think the Ministry will try to block your bond with your mate if they know about you?” she asked. 

“Oh my Granger,” he said softly. “They know about me. Have done since I had to threaten them to follow your lead the last time.”

“You paid them off,” she said.

“I could have paid them off for the remainder of our lives, but that would have left evidence and _that_ wouldn’t have suited, so I had to threaten them a bit. A bit of fang and talons here and there."

She shifted uneasily, glancing down at the parchments in her hands. She’d brought his notes and her partial plan. 

“Imagine how I felt when I heard you took that job in fucking Corporate Services,” he scoffed. “If I’d known you were going to give up your dreams of being Minister of Magic that easily I could have bought off the lot of them.” he sighed. “Maybe then they wouldn’t have passed it now.” He blinked and met her eyes. There was a faint flush now across his face. “Keep up, Granger. You can’t be Minister of Magic if I was proven to be party to bribery.”

“You let me think you paid them!”

He crossed his arms defiantly across his chest. “I did no such thing. You didn’t bother asking.” Misty chose that moment to climb on to Draco’s bed and begin trying to wrestle him out of his shirt. He was clearly unwilling, and by the time Misty vanished his shirt the faint flush appeared to have spread across his chest. 

Hermione tried to keep her gaze fixed above his shoulders. “So the Ministry knows you’re a Veela. You think they won’t honor your mate bond?”

“First, I have no mate bond. Second, I have no trust for the Ministry. I cannot trust an institution that trusts the likes of me.”

She rolled her eyes, “Oh yes, you are dreadful. I know.” He snorted in what may have been amusement, or may have been a reaction to a cold washcloth Misty was now scrubbing over his skin. “How terrifying you are, Malfoy,” she said while trying to hold back a grin. She was angry. She was hurt. She just needed to remember that. “I’m mad at you, but I’ve decided I won’t let you die.”

“I wouldn’t bet money on that just yet,” he dryly. Misty was now running the washcloth over his back and Hermione was faced with the wide expanse of his chest. The scar from Harry’s curse in sixth year was a raised rope of pink skin, but there were other scars. She wanted to ask him about them. More troublingly, she wanted to trace them with her fingertips and then possibly lick them. 

_Focus._

“I need you to explain things, Draco,” she said. Misty finished Draco’s sponge bath and disappeared from the bed with a pop. Hermione moved to stand beside Draco. She placed the parchments on the bed in the space between them. “Why hurt yourself like this? And don’t tell me it is because you’re a monster. I won’t hear it.”

He twisted toward her and looked directly into her eyes. “This is the only way I can keep my mate safe. To be attuned to my Veela, to accept this part of me, I would never be able to give her what she deserves most: choice. It’s what I would like to deserve, too,” he said as he glanced away. “I would like to have been able to fall in love with her unencumbered by instincts that feel alien to me. I should have liked to have courted her properly… for her to see me as a man who cherished her, rather than _this._ ” He said it with such disgust. Her heart ached for him. He sighed and settled down into the bed and turned away from her. This exposed the long line of his back. It was a hellscape of marred flesh. “Who did this?” she asked, furious. These scars had been thick, sharp cuts dragged through the meat of his shoulders. “Leave it, Granger.”

“I will not leave it. I want a name.”

“Fine. I did it myself.”

“Who could possibly be worth this! Who is your mate that they think they are so much better than you, they’ve made you - you-- twist your nature until you became this closed off _ruin_?” She felt the sting of salt before she realized she was crying. She grasped his shoulder, intending to force him to face her. With preternatural speed he’d clasped her wrist and dragged her across him so she flipped and lay beside him on the bed. His fangs were prominent and he panted. He had not let go of her wrist. The bones in his hand held her in place, but his talons were merely a whisper over her skin. Careful. He was always being careful with her. 

“Granger,” he rasped. His thumb traced across the vein inside her wrist. “You just can’t leave it alone. You ruin everything, love.” Silent tears streaked sideways down his face even as he tried to give her a tremulous smile. He brought her captive hand to his face and gently pressed a kiss into each of her knuckles. His fangs slid against them and caused a sudden breathless feeling. “Malfoy…” she was terrified. Terrified of being wrong and possibly equally terrified of being correct. 

“It was always you, Granger.” 

He watched her confusion settle into sadness which was infinitely worse. She shook her head no and he brought his other hand up between them so her hand was held between his two. He bent over that hand. Penitent. Worshipful. 

“How long have you known it was me?” she whispered. “Since the very moment of my manifestation as a Veela,” he admitted. “Every moment since then has been with that knowledge.”

She pulled away from him slowly and stood from the bed. 

“Ten years you’ve been hiding,” she murmured. “That means I’ve never even known you, have I?” His nostrils flared in indignation, but he said nothing. She strode toward the door. 

“You know me, Granger,” he could taste his desperation in the air and hear it echo in his voice. He couldn’t lose her. Not now.

“No, Malfoy.” She shook her head furiously. “Don’t you see? I only know the lie you allowed me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your kind words <3 It has been exactly one month of publishing this fic.  
> I'm hoping to pick up the pace now that Hermione knows. I do promise there really is an HEA and smut on the horizon!


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Darling,” Draco purrs. Hermione’s breath catches in her throat. “We’ve been through so much together over these many years. No one could have imagined it when we were mere children roaming the halls of Hogwarts, but here we are. It isn’t an exaggeration to say that… I’ve built my very existence upon your happiness. I’ve pinned all hope I have for the future to your every breath. And I’ve become something closer to the man I want to be … for you.” 
> 
> Here Draco inhales heavily and Hermione finds herself echoing the gesture. “My life is in your hands. My happiness and health are at your mercy. Darling, please, I kneel before you a penitent man begging for the absolution and reward that is your charity. Say you’ll agree to marry me-- say you’ll be my wife and make me whole.”
> 
> Silence. And then…
> 
> “Fuck me, Malfoy,” Harry sniffs. “That was beautiful.”

Chapter 12

_No! No! … I can’t be …_ She kept gasping great shuddering breaths through her mouth as she paced her room. Draco’s room. Urgh. The room. She clutched a notebook and pen in one hand. She used quills and parchment at work and with Draco, but in the privacy of her own home… or borrowed bedroom as it were, she preferred the ease and simplicity of the muggle tools. She didn’t even know where to begin. She jotted down “Veela?!” “10 years? WTF?” and “Our timeline?” 

She wrote “His trial- he already knew?” and proceeded to panic again. 

“Tilly!” she called. A _crack!_ And then a soft, “Yes, Missus?” “Tilly, I need to floo to Grimmauld place. Is it still connected?” she asked. Tilly chewed her lip, uncharacteristically hesitant. 

“Has he forbidden me from leaving?” she asked, her heart in her throat. 

“Oh no, Missus,” Tilly said as she shook her outsized head furiously. 

“The floo, Tilly?” 

Tilly sighed heavily and nodded. “Yes, Missus. You can floo to Grimmauld.”

Draco’s floo emptied her directly into Harry’s office at Grimmauld. She blinked and staggered out of the fireplace. The last time she’d been in this room it had been practically barren. Now, it was a disaster. Harry’s desk was covered in messy scraps of paper. He had two large cork boards shoved against the far wall. There were chairs strewn about the room haphazardly; she recognized them from the many meals shared around the kitchen table. 

“Master Potter says he’ll be up in five minutes. The Mudblood is not supposed to go anywhere.” Kreacher’s gravelly voice droned at her and made her jump. “Would the Mudblood like tea?” 

“No thank you.” She swallowed and bit out a cheery, “That’s quite alright, Kreacher.” Despite her words, as soon as he’d disapperated back to wherever he came from, Hermione dragged open the door and stuck her head out into the hallway. Voices drifted up the staircase. A meeting in the kitchen perhaps? Whatever it was, the strident voices sounded far from being over, so she had time. She closed the door carefully and immediately set to work searching the office. The papers on Harry’s desk were spelled to appear blank, but that was unsurprising after all these years. The cork boards though… they were intriguing. 

At first glance they seemed quite similar. The one on the right was a bit tidier and less cluttered, but both featured a large picture of Hermione’s building as her flat went up in flames. It was the picture from the Prophet. The board on the right didn’t seem to lead anywhere. There were more pictures, ones the Prophet hadn’t felt the need to publish or hadn’t had access to… she could swear she could make out a freckled hand dipping in and out of one of the frames that depicted the ashen remains of what had been, until quite recently, her safe little world. She recognized that the picture _should_ be of her living room, but the walls that once held her books, pictures, and souvenirs were blackened. Her couch appeared to be cleaved neatly in half; one side nearly ashes and the other almost pristine. Whoever had done this appeared to do it with particular intention. 

She’d purloined the couch before she sold her childhood home when it became apparent her parents were not getting their memories back. Harry, Ron, Ginny, and George had all taken a two days off work to help her clean and move. 

The cork board to the left was cluttered with bits of notes on torn off parchments and ribbons pinned to connect theories or people. There were names she recognized mixed in with the ones she didn’t. Ministry Officials and their underlings. In the lower left hand corner of this board, there was a folded parchment, sealed with the same purple security wax as her official marriage law letter. She held her right forefinger to it, expecting a small flash of heat to warn her away. Instead a cool numbing sensation greeted her in recognition. It seemed to say, “Oh, I know you, but you’ll not get in here.” 

Satisfied she’d seen everything she could see without hours to reverse or trick the charms on Harry’s papers, she wandered over to the Black family tapestry to study Draco’s entry. There was nothing off about it, nothing to suggest he wasn’t quite like every other wizard on the tree before him… were they all Veelas? No. Sirius, dark and surly, certainly wasn’t. It was at that moment that Ron burst into the room with a buoyant, “‘Mione! Everything alright? Or are you just finally sick of the ferret?” Hermione smiled and insisted she was fine, “just a bit board” and “wondering how the investigation is going” before she deflected and asked after Ron’s family. She was about to ask after Percy and Penelope when Ron cut her off with a sigh and a shake of his head. “What?” she asked. 

“Mione, look around. Your life is in complete chaos right now. You’re allowed to not be cheerful. And Merlin’s beard, please don’t make me talk about Percy,” he said with an eye roll.

Hermione considered her friend. “Susan’s been a wonderful influence on you, you know.” Ron grinned sheepishly and immediately ruined the effect by calling out, “Oi! Kreacher, tea!” 

Hermione groaned. 

“Oh please, I saw Malfoy’s elves. Tell me you’re at least fussing at him to join Spew over dinner drinks.” Ron looked thoroughly pleased with this idea. “Actually, could you save it for when I’m there? I’d love to see his face as you argue circles around him.”

“No,” she said.

“Well, fine. At least make a mention of it, will you?”

“No. I don’t need to,” she said. Ron looked mildly horrified. “Tell me you haven’t convinced him to fund it. I think he’s a bit of a barmy git where you’re concerned, you know?”

“No,” she grit her teeth. “I mean he’s good to his elves.” Ron snorted in disbelief.

“Really, Ron. They’re paid and … they’re quite devoted to him.” She was, she had to admit to herself, not as comfortable with this fact as she was pretending. 

“Well yeah, obviously. They’re house elves.”

“No, he treats them with care and respect, and in turn they _respect_ him.”

This was a step too far for Ron. “Draco sodding Malfoy respects house elves?”

“And pays them.”

“Oh come off it!”

“Come off what?” Harry interrupted as he walked into the room. 

The look on Ron’s face said it was lucky Harry chose that moment to join them. Where Ron seemed like his usual slightly sloppy and disheveled self, Harry wore the week’s hours like a boulder. His facial hair was several days past due for a shave and his hair appeared greasy. Guilt, a familiar friend, settled in Hermione’s gut as she took him in. 

“Harry,” she breathed out his name. “It’s good to see you.”

He tipped a grin at her and dragged his desk chair over to where she and Ron stood awkwardly amongst the collection of kitchen chairs. He threw his body down in it and kicked his feet up on one of the unused chairs. Ron pushed another chair in Hermione’s direction and took one for himself. 

“Everything alright?” Harry asked. He dipped his head back, pulled his glasses away from his face to rub his eyes and then replaced them.

“Just checking in,” Hermione said brightly. “And rather wondering why you have two very different looking boards up for what appears to be the same investigation.”

“Ah. Well the tidy one on the right is a replica of the one at the office. Anything that gets added, moved, or removed in the office shows up here to help us keep our stories straight for the prying eyes of the Ministers, while the one on the left is our actual investigation,” he said. “It was Ron’s idea, actually.”  
  
“What do you mean by ‘actually?’” Ron asked. 

Hermione smiled at them. “It is a very clever idea, Ron.”

Harry’s bleary eyed gaze was piercing as he settled on Hermione and crossed his arms across his chest. “Hermione, if you missed us, you could have written a letter or asked us to come over. But instead you’re here. What’s going on?”

She folded her hands across her chest to match his. “Harry, I need to know what happened between Justin and Malfoy.”

Harry’s jaw clenched, but Ron coughed in surprise. She swung around to him, but Ron immediately threw his hands up in mock surrender. “No! Don’t, Mione. I don’t know a thing.”

“Really?” she asked.   
  
“Really- you know Malfoy and I are like … _barely_ acquaintances.”

“You use his box when the Cannons are in town,” she said. 

Harry grinned and helpfully added, “When anyone’s in town, really.”

“Well that's quidditch, isn’t it? That’s different,” Ron sputtered.

“I don't know why you both insist on this charade. He was _in_ your wedding, Ronald,” she said in exasperation. She turned back to Harry. “I know he attacked Justin. I know it was _bad --”_ actually, given everything she knew now, she assumed it was near lethal, “-- I have to know why, Harry.” Harry glanced away uncomfortably.

“Hold up,” Ron said. “Attacked? The official report says ‘Neglect of Duty.’ Harry, what’s she talking about?” 

Harry let his feet drop from the kitchen chair and sat forward. “Have you ever known Malfoy to miss a detail?” he asked.

“No, he’s annoying about it actually. Almost as bad as you, Hermione.”

“Lovely, Ron,” she said. This dry back and forth was soothing in its familiarity. “Harry, what happened during that mission?”

"Did you ask him? Malfoy, I mean.” 

“I’m asking you. I am asking you, because I need to know if I can trust _him_.”

Harry shook his head. “I wasn’t on the mission. However, I was first on the scene afterwards..." He glanced almost imperceptibly at Ron before saying, “I could give you the memory. Would that work?” She nodded. Harry strode over to his desk and began rooting around for something to hold the memory for her.   
  
She asked, “Are there other… _relevant_ memories?” 

“Relevant to what, Hermione?” Harry snapped. “Look, he’s already going to be furious with me for this. What do you _need_?”

“Oi,” Ron broke in. “It’s been a long week. Couple of weeks, really. No need to take it out on her, mate.” He turned to her. “Why are you suddenly concerned about Malfoy? Has he done something to make you doubt him?”

“I just need to know — beyond a doubt— that I can trust him!” she said. “Look around, Ron. I collapsed at work and was put on leave. You’ve made two investigative boards because someone - likely in our government- burnt down my home. I’m living with Malfoy and then this morning the Ministry decided to inform me that I should marry someone like Blaise Zabini, but they’ll let me have the likes of Cormac McClaggen or Justin if I’ll go quietly to the alter like a good little war heroine.” 

“You can trust Draco, Hermione,” Harry said. “I believe you already knew that, though.” 

“Prove it to me then,” she challenged him. He tossed her a specimen tube with the wispy residue of his memory stowed carefully inside. 

“I can get you some memories, too,” Ron said. “If it’ll make you feel better.” He left the office and his footsteps down the hall were loud in the silent room. 

Hermione pulled out her Marriage Law letter and handed it to Harry. “I know now,” she said. “About him… being a Veela.”

Harry unfolded the letter and chuckled. “That idiot,” he said fondly. “I’m sorry. I am. But it wasn’t my secret to tell.”

“I know,” she said grudgingly. “I’m going to be a bit upset for… well, a while most likely.”

“That’s fair,” he said. He refolded the paper and handed it back to her just as Ron came barreling back into the room. Ron held out a cloudy jar to her. She took it carefully. 

“Ron, how many memories are in here?”

“Just a few,” he said. “But honestly, I think they’ll be enough.”

“Right,” she said slowly. “Well, thank you.”

Back at Malfoy’s she set off in search of a pensieve. They were expensive pieces of magic and frequently passed down through families; naturally, she assumed he had one somewhere. Expensive family heirlooms probably made up the bulk of his birthday gifts growing up, she mused. After searching through the library, and two rarely used great rooms downstairs, her impatience growing by the minute, she called for Tilly. Tilly popped into being, but as she did so Narcissa rounded the corner. 

“Yes, Missus?” Tilly asked Hermione. 

“Umm, hello,” she directed her words to Narcissa. “I was just about to ask Tilly about borrowing Draco’s pensieve if he has one available. Perhaps you could help?” Her words were stilted. Narcissa’s eyes searched her. 

“Did my son not tell you where to find it?” she asked.

“He doesn’t know I need it. He wasn’t feeling well earlier, I’m afraid.” Belatedly, it occurred to Hermione that she probably should have asked after him. She wondered what he would have done if she’d asked him for the pensieve. She imagined he would not have liked it, but he probably would have relented. Veelas have a notoriously difficult time denying their mates anything that is in their power to give, and didn’t that just throw her perspective of their history into a brand new light. Had he ever wanted to say no to a request from her and felt compelled otherwise? All those times he’d walked her home, had he preferred to stay, but not been able to fight off the itch of his magic telling him he _had_ to provide for her?

Narcissa’s calculating stare was unflinching. “I can’t help you, I’m afraid. Neither can Tilly. Draco keeps things like that warded. You’ll have to ask him.” As she continued down the hall past Hermione, without turning around, she asked, “Will you be dining with us tonight, Ms. Granger?”

_Ms. Granger. Well, that's me in my place._

“No, I find I’ve not quite got an appetite today, Mrs. Malfoy.”

Draco stared at swirling planets above his head; they were bits of odds and ends he’d transfigured to entertain himself. His thoughts flew a mile a minute but his body was drained and weak. Is this what Hermione felt like when he’d been carelessly casting wandless magic? Or was this worse for him, because her outburst had been uncontrolled? These thoughts were easier to mull over than to wonder how he would ever convince her to give him a chance. A real shot-- not a “yes, so you don’t die” chance. 

“Tilly,” he called. “Is she back yet?” 

“Yes, Master Draco,” Tilly squeaked as she clambered onto the end of his bed. 

“How’d she seem?”

“Mmm,” Tilly hummed as she considered his question. “Not happy. Maybe frightened? But not scared. Tilly doesn’t know.”

“It’s okay,” he said grinning. “Emotions are tough for me too, Tilly.”

“Missus was looking for your pensieve,” she offered.

“What?” He sat up too quickly. He held his breath while he waited for his brain to catch up with his body’s new position. “Shit.”

“What should Tilly do?”

“If she’d be willing, bring her here.”

Tilly nodded twice and disappeared. 

Minutes later she returned, tugging Hermione by the hand through his door. Hermione was avoiding his gaze and chewing on the inside of her lip. He hated to see his mate looking so uncertain. 

“The pensieve is in your room,” he said. 

“What?” she asked, surprised at this.

“My pensieve. I keep it locked away in a hidden compartment at the back of my… your armoire.”

“How do I access it?” she asked.He held his wand aloft. “Here. Take this. It’s keyed to my wand. Just open up the armoire and tap the back of it seven times then say, “Toujours vrai.”

“Always true?”

“A better family motto than the one I was born to, I think.” He still held out his wand to her, but she didn’t come any closer to take it.

“Should you maybe just open it for me?” 

He would not have guessed that this was something she’d balk at. He hummed in amused contemplation. “Fate has a sense of humor. First, it pairs us during a war no less, and now it seems my destined mate can’t handle my wand.”

She stormed over, grabbed his wand away from him, turned on her heel and practically fled from him as she hissed, "“You are foul, Malfoy!”   
  
His shallow, quiet laughter chased her from the room.   
  
  
  
  
Hermione opened the armoire and shoved her clothes and robes aside to reveal the unblemished backing, She ran her hands across the smooth wood; it was cool to the touch but there was a hum of magic coming from it. She tapped his wand to the wood gently and muttered “Toujours vrai.” She was acutely and uncomfortably aware Draco was trusting her with ancient family magic. 

The wood seemed to turn molten and parted like curtains revealing a deeper compartment. The pensieve appeared to be made of platinum and was held up by a marble stand. Hermione would have to physically step into the armoire in order to use the it. Even if she trusted Draco, and she thought she mostly did, she couldn’t imagine leaving herself vulnerable. While in the thrall of the memories, she’d be exposed. Her brain provided a quick and vivid image of her being locked up and imprisoned in the armoire. The muggle therapist she went to see in the first few years following the war called these “intrusive” thoughts, but Hermione always remembered Mad-eye’s grim face as he barked “Constant vigilance!” 

“Tilly?” she called. The little elf stepped out from where she’d been partially hidden behind the bed. “Can you stay here with me? Make sure everything is … alright?” Tilly nodded her head emphatically and stationed herself in front of the armoire. Shifting Draco’s wand so she held both of theirs together, she stepped inside the cramped space and bent low over the pensieve. With her free hand she fished out the specimen tube from Harry. She pulled out the cork with her teeth and dumped the wisp of memory into the basin. She took one last breath and plunged herself into the memory.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
 _A rubbled building, looking ancient and bombed out, set against a starry night sky. Eerie and forbidden. Harry rushes past where she stands watching. His wand is clutched in front of him, ready for an attack, and then a brief shimmer of wards as the echo of a shiver runs down her spine. Harry has shouldered through the wards and on the other side of them she can see the building isn’t rubble at all. It is a rather nice looking manor house, though there seems to be smoke coming from one wing of it. She cannot see flames so she doesn’t know if it is from a fire starting or one already put out.  
  
There are figures huddled off to the right of the grand stairs leading up to the front door.  
  
“I’m breaking every protocol we have, Malfoy,” Harry calls. His voice is calm, but his grip on his wand doesn’t waver for a moment. He creeps closer. “Fuck, oh Fuck. What happened?” He is bent over the huddled mass of bodies obscuring Hermione’s view. She steps around to the other side and sees an elderly wizard, bald, prone on the ground and clearly dead. Beside him, a bound witch with scraggly white hair, is slumped over and appears to be magically rendered unconscious. When Hermione tries to move to see around Harry, her vision becomes unclear. Either the details of the scene are difficult for him to recall or he purposely tried to obscure them from her. She isn’t sure which option she prefers. _

_She shifts the other way around Harry and can see Malfoy’s gleaming hair. As he comes into view she sees large, dark grey leathery wings shielding her view from this angle. Blood drips sluggishly from where they appear to have erupted from his pale back._

_“Malfoy?” Harry asks, disbelief coloring his voice. Malfoy shifts back on his haunches and lowers his wings. The image swims out of focus again. There’s blood everywhere. Hermione’s stomach rolls as she realizes that while she cannot make out the precise images, she can smell the blood heavy in the air. This memory has the knowledge of carnage woven into it. “Help me.” Draco’s voice is low, rasping. He was trying to heal the wounds. “Dittany isn’t working!” he hisses desperately. “I can’t apparate!”_

_That snaps Harry out of his horrified stupor. He grabs something from his pocket, kneels, and says “Portus.” The scene tumbles and as the world rights itself, Hermione realizes it was his emergency St. Mungo’s portkey. They’ve landed in the middle of a private ward reserved for Ministry business. Hermione’s heard of it, but never seen it herself. It is reserved for the Minister, his cabinet, and apparently Aurors in dire circumstances. Now the image is clearer. Harry must not have felt as guilty showing her this. The scene is bright. The lines are crisp. She turns and can see the full horror of what has been done to Justin Finch-Fletchley._

_Deep gashes cross Justin’s chest from where Draco’s talons tore his skin asunder. Hermione gags as she realizes she can see bone._

_Harry’s calling out. A team of healers comes running from nearby rooms. “Basic emergency spells not working and no luck with Dittany!” Harry says as he hands off Justin to the team._

_One harried looking witch yells, “Red kit, red kit!” as she levitates Justin’s body to follow her as she takes off at a run into one of the side rooms._

_A young wizard, barely out of Hogwarts by the look of him, comes up to Harry with a stack of parchments and a quill. “Auror Potter,” he squeaks. “I need any information you have about the type of spells used in the attack.” Hermione can feel Harry’s hesitance._

_“Not a spell. I don’t think. I was … late on the scene. It was an animal attack. But it was gone by the time I reached him.”_

_“No idea what sort of animal it was?” the young man asks with a hint of disbelief._

_Annoyed, Harry says, “No, like I said, it was gone by the time I got there.”_

_The same harried looking healer from before leans out of a doorway and calls,“Bleeding is controlled for now, but we can’t close the wounds. There’s some sort of venom working against us. Were there any other witnesses? We can keep him stable on blood replenishment potions, but we can’t heal him like this.”_

_“Uh, yeah,” Harry stammers. “Yeah, I’ll see if I can get anything else for you.” The world goes black as Harry apparates back to Draco. Harry stands further away from Draco this time, so Hermione sees more of his wings and his back. She sees as his talons rip into the skin around his wings, scrabbling for purchase as though he is attempting to dig them out from the source. Her stomach heaves. “Malfoy, stop!” Harry commands._

_Draco freezes, the talons of one hand still partially buried in his back, and he half turns toward Harry’s voice. “Will he live?” he rasps. “Potter… will he live?”_

_“I- I think so, but there’s -- is there a venom? They can’t get the wounds to heal,” Harry says. Hermione watches as Draco shudders through pulling his taloned hand free of his skin and mutters a swear. Harry explains, “They need to know how to stop it. They can’t control --”_

_“It’s Veela venom, Potter,” Draco spits. “They need to crush a bezoar and boil it with Hippogriff blood.” Hermione is dimly aware of Harry sending off his Patronus to the healers at St. Mungo’s, but keeps her attention on Malfoy. His back bleeds from his self-attack, and the rivulets are steady. Hermione knows Veela’s have an accelerated healing factor, but Malfoy’s doesn’t seem to be terribly rushed. She wonders if this slowed healing is a side effect of his irresponsible approach to being a Veela, or if it was more the fault of their imperfect bond draining his core._

_“So, you’re a Veela then?” Harry asks awkwardly. Draco groans in reply. “However did you make that leap in logic, Potter?”_

_Harry ignores this, instead turning to the dead wizard and his unconscious wife. “What happened here? It was a simple arrest.” Harry glances over Malfoy uncomfortably, “This should have been nothing for you.”_

_“It was. What happened is you partnered me with that incompetent twat,” Draco glares up at Harry. When he doesn’t continue, Harry says sternly, “You better start talking, mate.”_

_“I had a handle on it, but Finch-Fletchley was spooked. Grisham was volatile, more volatile than he was expecting, and he dropped a bloody_ iron chandelier _on the bloke.”_

_“Iron?”_

_“Death Eater decor. All the rage for awhile there, ” Draco explains. “Iron’s quite useful for holding old family blood magic. Idiot nearly took me out with it. The damned thing was still lit.”_

_Harry looks bewildered at the smoldering corner of the manor and the smoke that continues to pour forth.“So he’s quite dead then,” Harry said. “And what’s her story?” He gestured to the dead wizard’s, Grisham’s, wife.  
  
“She came quietly. Turned herself in after he died at the scene. “You said the chandelier nearly took you out… Is that why you attacked Justin?” Harry asks with deceptive lightness. _

_“What do you know about Veela?”_

_“Well, they’re female--” Hermione flinches at Harry’s words._

_“Right, so fuck all.”_

_“Sorry, I mean obviously you’re not-- unless? No, right. And the wings and the--” Harry mimes claws, “but how was this not in your trial? Or well, when were you bitten?” Hermione can feel her own anger rising. Honestly, how was this man in charge of a team of Aurors?_

_“Oh fuck me, Potter. That’s not a thing!”_

_“No?”_

_“No, I’m not like bloody Greyback or a damned vampire.” Draco inhales deeply, and says, “The relevant point is that Veelas have mates.”_

_The sentence hangs in the air between them. Draco appears to be waiting for his response and Harry appears to be working very hard to say nothing. After Malfoy raises his brows in mock questioning, Harry sputtered, “Well, clearly my default knowledge is werewolves, you can hardly ask me to reply to that. Just bloody explain yourself, will you?”  
“Did that Delacourt bint teach you all nothing? I have a-- **Veelas** have a soulmate. One person. Forever. Predestined. Your magic, your Veela, chooses them to be your perfect balance. They make every part of you better and more worthy than you were before. Once you know who they are-- their happiness, their safety is -- it has to be beyond question. It has to be beyond threat.”_

_Harry appears to mull this over. “What did he do?”  
Draco scrapes his taloned fingers through his hair, stressed, and Hermione watches the razor sharp talons cut away uneven white blonde locks that fall to the ground. “I’m not dangerous- usually, I swear. I handle it. I know she’ll see who she wants. I know I’ll never likely be him. I manage it!” His eyes are wild as they search for understanding from Harry. _

_For his part, Harry just looks puzzled. “Justin threatened your mate somehow. But he’s been sniffing around--” his face turns stony, his eyes flinty, “he’s been sniffing around Hermione.” At Draco’s silence, he presses forward, “Hermione? My Hermione--” here Draco releases a savage growl, “-- is your mate? And Justin…? Did what?”_

_Draco loses the battle with his fangs; they reappear with a snarl, “Threatened her.”_

_Harry, looking somewhat disbelieving, pushes, “What was said exactly?” Draco maintains his angry silence. “Don’t make me use veritaserum, Malfoy.”_

_Draco smirks wickedly. “Be my guest Potter. I’m immune.” He shakes out his hands, but the talons remain. When he begins talking again, his rasping voice takes on a deadly quality. “He said he thought she’d be amenable to his advances. I was less than encouraging. He insisted he could… accomplish his goal regardless of her input. And I…” Draco trailed off and studied his talons. “... tried to disabuse him of this notion.”_

_Hermione watches as Harry’s face darkens with fury. Apparently, he believes Malfoy and trusts his version of events. He whispers, “What did he say he would do, specifically?”_

_“Got his hands on some muggle compound. Said it would ensure things went… as planned. Then made a comment about Goldstein saying she was a sure thing anyway.”_

_Harry begins pacing around the site. After a few rounds of walking back and forth, he stops and asks, “Why the fuck didn’t you kill him, Malfoy?”_

_“Because she wouldn't want me to. It is the guiding principle of my life, Potter. Granger deserves for me to be better than I am.”  
  
  
  
_ The memory collapsed in on itself and Hermione was left with the unpleasant sensation of becoming immediately aware of all of her body all at once. She stared into the swirling basin while she tried to parse through the details. Justin was a predator. He’d been hanging out with them and playing nice but he was a predator. How long had he been planning to … with her? Had he hurt others? Anthony Goldstein was an ass. She wasn’t surprised he was cashing in on their very short lived entanglement. Despite it being years since that night, she'd caught him joking about it with Terry Boot back when she was still with the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. That, paired with the lackluster response from HR, was the final indignity that made her leave the department for good. 

It had been one date a few months after her break up with Ron. Most days she’d still been more depressed than not; feeling numb was her default state. She and Anthony had dinner, drank too much and went to a club where they continued to drink while dancing. It wasn’t that his charms were so alluring; he was a body, he was there, and he didn’t seem like a threat. They found a dark corner in a corridor leading to the back alley of the club. Anthony proceeded to last all of two minutes and seemed to be unaware that those two minutes had not done anything for Hermione. The mood effectively ruined, she’d made her excuses, said it had been a nice dinner “as friends” and slipped out the back door into the alley where she could safely apparate away. 

Years later, and he still leered at her in the lifts or from across the Atrium. And apparently, her was still dining out on his so-called prowess. So much for not being a threat.

Images of Draco’s shredded back and his large wings swam before her in the basin. She used her wand to coax the memory back in Harry’s tube. She put the stoppered tube back in the pocket of her robes. Was she ready for whatever Ron’s memories would show her? Could she handle it? Didn’t Harry’s memory prove she could trust Draco? After all, the only threat to Draco’s stability was her. She leaned back against the clothes she pushed aside to enter the armoire. Her robes. Her robes that Draco had ready for her when she first came here. She absently fiddled with a sleeve. Top quality, designer robes cut with her taste and comfort in mind. She sighed. 

“Tilly?”

“Yes, Missus?” she called from the bedroom beyond Hermione’s view.

“I’m going to look at another memory or two.”

“I’ll be here, Missus,” Tilly reassured her.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
_The Leaky Cauldron is packed. The crowd is raucous, but everyone appears to be in their work attire; it must be a Friday night. Hermione is shocked to recognize herself standing at the bar with Ginny and Harry; they all appear younger and more awake than she thinks she’s been in awhile. This is Ron’s memory though, so she looks around for him in the crowd. She jumps when she hears his voice directly behind her._

_“Hey, good to see you!” he says loudly. She turns to see Ron greeting Draco; who, for his part, looks distinctly uneasy as he takes Ron’s hand and leans into the handshake. She hears him say lowly, “We’ve got all possible entrances and exits covered. Can Potter really cover her if his wife is here being a distraction?”_

_“We’ve got Dean Thomas on her, too,” Ron says. “And we’re sure its supposed to be tonight?”_

_“Completely.” With that, Draco makes his way to the other end of the bar opposite where this Hermione, Ginny, and Harry were sitting. He orders a glass of Ogden’s and surreptitiously scans the pub. His eyes linger on the people around this Hermione, but never stray to her. She sees Draco relax minutely once Dean Thomas flanks her other side and she is essentially enclosed by Harry and him._

_The memory swirls and jumps._

_Ron and Draco are rushing up the back stairs of the Leaky after someone just out of sight. She could hear the pounding of the footsteps and see dust fall through the floorboards above them. As they round the top of the stairs and hit the landing she sees Draco cast a jinx. It misses. The bulky man they chase dodges and runs into an open bedroom. Ron casts a jinx that hits the doorframe causing a chunk of the frame to fly free. Draco immediately follows up with another silent spell and this time the sound of shattering glass rings out with a pained groan._

_Inside the room, they find a portly, balding man hit with a Jellylegs Jinx laid out backwards through the broken window. Shards of glass cut into his skin. Ron moves in to examine the man, while Draco stands back with his wand at the ready. Hermione is astonished to see such unbridled vitriol playing across his features. She quickly checks for his fangs and talons, but he seems to be in perfect control despite his rage. If she didn’t know she was looking at a furious Veela, she’d would have guessed it._

_Ron clears his throat. “Oi Malfoy, I’d say this is your collar, mate.”  
  
Draco rolls his neck and walks forward. Hermione moves so she can see his face. His eyes… they have the familiar hardness she now associated with his total occlusion and separation from his Veela. Never dropping his wand for a moment, he says with a deep viciousness, “Your lucky day, Ugly. These cuts look superficial. Your threats to Hermione Granger however have proven to be quite troubling.” The prone man flinches and tries to stand up. “Ah, I wouldn’t do that. You see a sudden movement could be misconstrued as a credible threat and a novice, such as myself, could easily choose the wrong spell in the moment. Isn't that right, Weasley?”_

_Ron, who appears to be enjoying the man’s pain immensely, grins and says airily, “Oh, quite right. So easily done. I mean, you could compel him out the window, and then where would he be?”_

_“Dead, I should think,” Draco smiles mercilessly. “Anything to say for yourself?”_

_Ron grabs the man by his shirt collar and hauls him up. The man spits at Draco and hisses, “Turncoat scum! Keeping filthy Mudbloods safe and sound now are we?”_

_Draco drops his wand and grabs the man by the throat ripping him from Ron’s grip. Here was the Veela strength. Ron looks slightly put off and a bit nervous, but doesn’t intervene._

_“I am, in fact, her protector,” he hisses. “You chose the wrong witch to threaten. Because you aren’t just going down for being a purist prick and threatening the life of a beloved war heroine. Oh no, I’ve built a watertight case around your many years of fraudulent dealings with the Goblins. I’ve also managed to get several former_ associates _on file regarding your less legal habits… importing banned ingredients, brewing and selling illegal potions on the black market, and … here’s my personal favorite, you swindled the Deputy Assistant to the Minister of Magic out of several thousand galleons with a real estate scam last year.”  
  
Draco loosens his grip and steps away; he replaces his hand with the tip of his wand. “That’s right. I’ve tracked every alias you’ve ever used. You threatened the wrong witch. I would gladly watch you burn for it.” Ron coughs pointedly. Draco concedes, “I am willing to settle for seeing you rot in Azkaban until you are too old and senile to ever even recall her name, let alone that you once thought to poison her.” _

_The scene tumbled. A new memory._

_Draco is in his office in the Auror department. He stares at a wall of parchments and Ron and Harry stand just inside the doorway. Hermione had never been inside Draco’s office and there was no mistaking it, this is purely his domain. The desk is large, carved walnut so dark it gleams black in the dimmed light of the room. There are two large but empty portrait frames along one wall, a gilt clock mounted between two windows that feature multiple constellations arranged around the Roman numerals, and on his desk a single framed photo of himself with Theo Nott and Blaise Zabini decked out in quidditch gear.  
  
Harry sighs and says, “Robards says the threat to Hermione is now so low it basically is negligible. He’s shutting down the task force and wants you reassigned to reviewing the cursed objects still being brought in from old Death Eater properties.”  
  
“I am not a curse breaker,” Draco states with a restrained coolness.  
  
“Yeah, but you have to admit, it is time to move on,” Ron says. Hermione winces on his behalf.  
  
“Move on?” Draco asks softly. “Her mail is still redirected here, because we _know _she is in danger.”_

_“But the frequency of actually dangerous mail attacks and credible threats is almost nothing,” Harry says. “They’re confident we’ll catch any new threats now that there aren’t so many of them.”_

_Hermione steps closer to stand at Draco’s shoulder. The circles beneath his eyes are deep purple. “How can you say that? Look at these! All of these are from the last month!” he shouts. The wall of parchment in front of him is made of letters. She steps closer. They are letters meant for her. The ones the task force confiscated and never passed on. “Mudblood” features heavily in all of them. “And who will take my place? Or does Robards just plan to just send all these on to Granger? Let her be inundated by hatred with her morning tea, and threatened with Avada with her dinner?”_

_Harry walks further into the office and helps himself to one of the chairs Draco keeps for guests. “Malfoy, we’ve done good work. We’ve found truly dangerous criminals and crackpots and they’re out of the way now. None of these letters were credible. You tracked them all down yourself. Half of these are disgruntled children of Death Eaters looking to lash out and blame someone for their loss of status and property.”_

_“The war has been over awhile now, mate,” Ron says while shifting uncomfortably. “You’re a bloody great Auror, and you know I hate to say anything nice about you.” Draco scoffs at this. “But you have to decide what it is you want to do: you can be an Auror or you can be the keeper of Hermione’s mail. I can tell you right now, she can’t match your salary."  
  
“Don’t be gauche, Weasel. One doesn’t discuss _salaries, _” Draco says with an exaggerated shudder. He then turns to Harry. “How much negotiating power do you have, Potter?”  
  
“None,” Harry says. _

_“Fine. I want all her mail forwarded to me first and I’ll have my elves check them.”_

_“Brilliant,” Ron says. “Now we’re involving the elves. If ‘Mione ever hears of it there’ll be hell to pay.”_

_“Why because her mail may be dangerous?” Draco shoots back at him. He then turns back to Harry. “And I’m not working on fucking cursed Death Eater memorabilia, so find a better use for me or I’ll be establishing the Hermione Jean Granger Mail Inspection Fund at Gringotts to pay out my new… salary.”  
  
The scene swirls. Another memory.  
  
  
Ron, Harry, and Draco are seated around the Weasley’s living room at the Burrow. The house is quiet; the world is dark outside the windows. Harry is sitting on the floor staring at the fireplace. Ron is laid out across the sofa. Draco slumps sideways in an armchair with a glass of Ogden’s in hand. Hermione giggles to see the three of them are decidedly sloshed.  
“Urgh,” Ron groans. “Mum’s going to come down and kick us out-- guarantee it.” _

_“Shhhhh!” Harry hushes him loudly. “She’s asleep. We’re find. We’re -- we’re fine.”_

_“You two,” Draco shakes his head solemnly. “Can’t even hide from your mother in a whole house. How’d you ever manage to bring down Vol--” Draco cuts himself off and joins the other two as they say, “Hermione!” They dissolve into laughter that they try muffle with their couch cushions and throw pillows._

_“Stop, stop,” Ron says. “You two are worthless. I knew I should have gone to George.”_

_Draco sits up straight then and says, “I’m actually worth--”  
  
“Quite a lot,” Harry says with a roll of his eyes. “We know!”_

_“Weasle-y,” Draco hiccups. “You just need to speak from the heart. You’re dead set on this witch. We all can see it. Just tell her why you want to spend the rest of your days at her beck and call.”_

_“Yeah, you might be making this a bigger deal than it needs to be,” Harry agrees._

_“Oh, you think?” Draco says, “Was it the fifth time he mentioned having dragons present for the proposal or the third time he suggested unicorns that gave you that idea?”_

_“Yeah, yeah. Take the piss,” Ron grouses._

_“We should keep those ideas though,” Harry says. “Brilliant for whoever proposes to Luna.”_

_Draco’s face lights up at this and he hold his glass out in silent cheers to Harry._

_“I cannot just go up to Susan and say ‘Hey, I love you. Let’s get married.’”_

_Draco and Harry look at him in horror. “Of course not,” Draco says. “Who the fuck said to do that?”_

_“You literally just did!” Ron was now standing and gesticulating wildly with all thoughts of his mother’s wrath forgotten._

_Harry glances nervously between them. “No, mate. I think Malfoy meant like a romantic declaration, not a general suggestion?”_

_“Great, well if you’re so bloody romantic, you do it then!” Ron hisses._

_“Propose to your girlfriend?”_

_“Arse!”_

_“Fine,” Draco sighs. He drains his glass of Ogden’s and kneels on the floor in front of Ron. He holds out one of his hands and grasps one of Ron’s. Harry looks on with unrestrained glee._

_"Darling,” Draco purrs. Hermione’s breath catches in her throat. “We’ve been through so much together over these many years. No one could have imagined it when we were mere children roaming the halls of Hogwarts, but here we are. It isn’t an exaggeration to say that… I’ve built my very existence upon your happiness. I’ve pinned all hope I have for the future to your every breath. And I’ve become something closer to the man I want to be … for you.”  
  
Here Draco inhales heavily and Hermione finds herself echoing the gesture. “My life is in your hands. My happiness and health are at your mercy. Darling, please, I kneel before you a penitent man begging for the absolution and reward that is your charity. Say you’ll agree to marry me-- say you’ll be my wife and make me whole.”_

_Silence. And then…_

_“Fuck me, Malfoy,” Harry sniffs. “That was beautiful.”_

Hermione snapped back to her body mid-laugh. 

Draco Malfoy was an overprotective Being who would maim and kill for her. That was unsettling, yes. But this was also true: Draco Malfoy had apparently had her back for years, he obsessed over her safety and fought for it, and underneath it all he cared deeply.

Her laughter died. Yes, it was funny to see him gaze soulfully into Ron’s eyes while Ron blinked back owlishly. But his word choice wasn’t lost on her. She leaned back against the soft robes again, turned her face into them as a stray tear escaped. She held up her wand and touched the garment with its tip while whispering a spell to reveal residual magic. The armoire lit up. Every single garment, even the wood itself had been charmed with protection enchantments designed to keep her safe.  
  
“Tilly?” she called out. The elf stuck her head in the armoire. “Yes, Missus?”

Hermione gave her a watery smile. “I’m okay now.”  
  


* * *

Draco’s room was bathed in total darkness. She tiptoed over to the empty side of the bed, pulled back the blankets and climbed in. She reached over him to place his wand on his bedside table when his hand grabbed her forearm and his other arm wrapped around her waist.  
  
“Whatever are you doing, Granger?” he asked. His voice, rough with sleep, abraded her ears and sent a delicate shudder through her. She dropped his wand so it clattered on the bedside table.  
“I’ve come to ask a question,” she whispered. She felt the hand on her arm fall away. A moment later the dim glow of a lantern filled the room. He held her fixed in his stare as he lowered his wand back to the bedside table.  
“So ask,” he said. He gazed at her openly, too tired and too newly conscious to have his mind occluded.  
“Why did you not tell me?” she asked.

Draco, arm still wrapped around her waist, shifted and began to sit up. She followed suit and he let his arm fall away. She feared she was watching him begin to shut down in real time. He rolled his neck and closed his eyes. She held her breath.  
  
He opened his eyes, they were clear, and smiled sadly at her. “Haven’t we lost enough?” She studied the fine lines at the corners of his eyes, the delicate flare of his nostrils as he breathed in the scent of her, the mercurial silver of his eyes as he held her. 

Open. He was completely open to her.  
  
“What?” she asked shakily.  
“We were so impossibly young when we went to war,” he said. “We lost everything.” He gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “We nearly lost everyone. How could I take anything more from you?” Hermione felt her chin crinkle and her eyes burn. He continued, “I needed to look in the mirror, I needed to look at you, and know there was at least one part of me that wasn’t a monster.” She shook her head violently at the word. He cupped her chin in his palm and caressed her hand. “What sort of mate would I be if I could so easily bring myself to manipulate you or interfere with your free will? And make no mistake, if I had come to you years ago proclaiming my manifestation and your role in it-- you would have acted out of obligation and out of your good, good heart. Would you really have preferred that? As it is, _Hermione_ , am I not already unworthy enough?”

She shook her head violently as the tears fell. 

“Enough, Draco,” she said. “We’ve _lost_ enough. No more. Okay?” She shuddered through a few deep breaths. “No more closing yourself off from me. No more sacrificing yourself for my happiness. Do I bloody well look happy to you?” He leaned his head against her. Kissed her forehead and then pulled her in to rest against him. He whispered apologies into her scalp, her shoulder and every inch of skin between. Finally, she could take it no more. “Don’t. Don’t apologize.”

“How can I make this right?” he begged.  
  
“Just hold me.” She snuggled down into the pillows and rested her head against his heart. “Please.”  
He ran his fingers over her back and across her shoulders in a mesmerizing pattern of physical sensation until her eyes grew heavy and she began to feel herself slipping gently away into sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, so very much for your continued kindness and support of this fic! This was an incredibly busy week and I really hit a wall with writing. But I'm so excited I got to show more of how Malfoy operated earlier on in the background of Hermione's life and how he, Ron, and harry work together. 
> 
> I think next week may be another one chapter update week... I want to go back through the earlier chapters to do some line edits and smooth some things over (no major changes). 
> 
> Hope you are all doing what you need to do to keep yourselves safe and sane. Breathe, read, go on walks, drink water, give money to help if you can.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

  
Chapter 13  
  
  
  
Her hips cradled his. Draco arched his back, grinding his rock hard cock against her wet core, and shoved his nose against the juncture where her neck met the delicate curve of her shoulder. Desperately, he breathed her in and licked a bead of sweat from her clavicle. She mewled sweetly in his ear.  
  
He traced his fangs to follow the path her stray freckles led to where they disappeared beneath the neckline of her robes. Carefully, he hooked a talon beneath the fabric. It was thick, cheap; the robes were her’s from before. The forest green robes. He hated them. He sawed his talon back and forth against the cloth. It split and he pulled that finger down, dragging it through the fabric and rending it down to just under her bellybutton. She giggled as his nose followed that same path. She drew her knees close around him and wrapped her fingers through his hair tugging gently. He laid his head against her stomach and ground his cock against the mattress. Her scent was stronger here; he could practically taste her on his tongue already. He moaned into her hip bone.  
  
He lifted his head blinking hard to clear his vision; it was oddly softened and out of focus. A dream. It had been a dream. He wasn’t draped across Hermione; rather he was curled over on his side, staring at the wall, and achingly hard.  
  
Delicate fingers feathered over the scars that littered his back. Hermione. First she explored a line with her fingertip and then she followed it with a kiss. When she traced the long vertical scars delineating where his wings erupted when he completely lost control, he arched his back, and growled.  
“Granger.”  
  
“Yes, Draco?” she said innocently.  
  
“Seems like this may be an appropriate time to remind you that you’re playing with fire,” he bit out. 

“How so?”

“You are currently toying with a Veela who’s suppressed their need for you for nearly a decade. Tread carefully, witch.”

She hummed in agreement and proceeded to place a wet open mouth kiss against the base of his skull. He shuddered violently, groaning as he leaned back into her and her arms wrapped around him from behind. 

He looked down at her hands clasping his torso and felt his control slipping. The fabric of her robes scratched against his back and he caught the forest green of her sleeves. 

“Granger, did you come to bed in those dreadful green robes you wear to work?” he asked lightly. Indignantly, she snorted and released him rolling away. “Oh no you don’t.” He turned and rolled lightly on top of her pinning her wrists to the mattress. His hold skimmed her with the barest imitation of control. 

Smirking up at him, she asked, “And what do you have against these robes? They’re green.”

“I don’t care for green,” he said. She cast a wry glance around the bedroom. “This is a guest room, Granger. For guests.”

“Green is good enough for guests, but not the great Draco Malfoy?” She pulled her hands down through his hold and lay her hands atop his; she held his wrists. She ran a sensuous path across the veins there. His fangs popped and his talons slowly emerged. He heard the shudder of her breath. Her scent grew stronger.

“Oh, Miss Granger,” his voice rumbled from his chest. “Do you like that?”

Trying to feign boredom, she asked “Like what?” 

“A little danger?” he asked, genuinely curious. She shook her head. His instincts didn’t alert him to a lie. “Hmm,” he mused. “Then is it having your very own leashed beast?”  
  
“No,” she said softly.  
  
He made a show of inhaling her damp scent in the air and said, “But it is definitely something.” She only nodded.  
He looked her over in the light of morning. Her hair was more out of her braid than in it. Light freckles scattered here and there across her cheeks. Recalling his dream, he lowered his gaze to her neckline. He counted three freckles on her chest that he could see. 

“I detest these robes particularly, Granger.” They were ill-fitting and therefore a natural obsession of his. At the end of the work day, Hermione drew her shoulders inward in an attempt to release the tension between her shoulder blades. This particular set of robes gaped just enough that Draco could catch a glimpse of her bra strap or her bare shoulder if she leaned too far to one side. “You know these don’t fit quite right,” he said. He lowered his head to where the neckline gaped to the side. “See? They’re illustrating my point beautifully.” He lowered his mouth to her shoulder and placed a soft kiss along the gap. 

“And that bothers you?” disbelief colored her voice.

“Oh Granger,” he ran his mouth up her neck, his fangs tickling behind her ear as he groaned and said, “They kill me.”

She snorted a laugh. 

“Do I need to prove how serious I am?” he whispered into her hair. When she didn’t reply right away, he lowered the rest of his body to slot it against hers. An almost imperceptible gasp that he felt more than heard. “Granger, I am going to … _remove_ these robes. If you’d rather I didn’t…”

She turned toward him and grinned. “Oh, I’m sure I’ll let you know.” She wrapped her arms around his neck loosely. “Kiss me.” 

“Fangs, Granger,” he said apologetically. “Can’t risk it.”

“I thought you can’t hurt your mate?” she challenged. He shifted his weight against her, smirking when a fine quiver ran through her. 

“I can’t… once we’re bonded. Properly. Until then--” he held up his forefinger and, just like in his dream, hooked the deadly talon beneath the fabric of her robes, “--couldn’t bare it if I hurt you.” Unlike in his dream, the sound of the fabric tearing filled the room. And unlike in his dream, Hermione’s skin shivered with goosebumps. He reached her belly button and pressed kisses into her soft skin as he made his way back up to her face. He paused momentarily at the white lace of her bra to press another cautious kiss against her skin before continuing his journey. 

“How do you feel?” he asked.  
  
“Seriously?” she quirked an eyebrow at him. He leaned back and pushed his knees up under her thighs spreading them wider and nestling himself more firmly against her. She bit her lip against the onslaught of arousal. “It’s odd, but everything is somehow … steadier?”

“Like the world was spinning out of control--”

“And it’s finally stopped. Yeah.” She arched her back under him. “Part of me feels like it shouldn’t be this easy, but …”

“Exactly what part of this do you think has been easy?”

She shrugged. “I guess that’s fair. So, we can’t make out and those hands aren’t traveling any further south like that,” she said with a meaningful look at his talons.

“Definitely not,” he agreed.  
  
“So what now?” she asked. 

He ground his hard cock against her one last time before disentangling himself and getting out of the bed. Hermione groaned and clenched as she watched the light pouring in from the window reflect off his skin. She shamelessly drank him in.

“Now, you stop ogling me, we take very cold and very _separate_ showers, and we go ask a Bulgarian Centenarian to help us sort out our bond so that we can unleash the beast.”

Hermione giggled, but he kept a straight face when he said, “I was referring to you, Granger.”

* * *

Despite the icy water of his shower, Draco couldn’t help his grin. Hermione Granger knew she was his Veela mate. She knew and she came to him.  
It was a decade of birthdays and Christmases all rolled into one perfect evening of holding her as she drifted off to sleep and waking in the morning to her hands exploring his body. He had a definite _thing_ about her hands. He tried to shy away from it, the particular squirm he associated with noticing her hands, because having a very specific hand kink related to a very specific witch certainly complicated things when you’re coworkers sharing one small office together. Now though… she was his mate and she knew, so he rather thought that might give him _some_ implied permission to feel aroused when confronted with Hermione’s otherwise innocuous body parts. 

_Was this joy?_

He wondered at the lightness he felt as he waited in the hallway outside his bedroom door. In a breeze of mint and lavender from her shampoo, and looking self-contained and prepared for anything, Hermione exited her room in a whirl of blue grey silk robes that hugged her every curve perfectly. Her hair was up in a tight top knot that looked polished rather than severe and she smiled warmly at Draco before shifting her wand into the pocket of her robes and linking her hand through his. His mouth watered, his body hummed, and he imagined dragging her right back through that door and taking her under the enchanted canopy of the bed. _Soon._ Soon they would have their bond fixed and permanent; no one would be able to threaten it again, and Draco was going to dedicate days to exploring and pleasing his mate.

Hermione tugged him along beside her and they made their way down to breakfast. His heart thudded painfully; it was everything he ever dared hope for. He was horrendously grateful. 

In the dining room, they found Donka finishing up breakfast with Narcissa. Hermione caught Donka’s shrewd gaze looking them over, and took note that Narcissa did not even acknowledge them with anything more than a slight nod of her chin while her eyes remained firmly locked on her morning post. Draco held out a chair for Hermione and seated himself beside her. He began serving her from the plates on the table and she struggled to hold her reflexive annoyance in check. Yes, she was perfectly capable of serving herself, but Draco obviously knew that and this could be some power move the Veela part of him felt necessary to courting her. 

“So then, Draco,” Donka drawled from over her morning cup of Earl Grey, “How is your mate this morning?”

Narcissa scraped her knife across her plate as her eyes shot over to Draco and Hermione. Hermione, for her part, was grinning at the delicate pink hue that appeared to start under Draco’s chin and was steadily making its way to the unforgiving ridge of his cheekbone.  
“Yes, Draco,” Hermione got out between her wide smile. “How do you find me this morning?” Draco coughed to clear his throat and avoided her eyes. “I mean,” she pressed on, “I can think of several descriptors…”

“Fine, Donka. Hermione is fine,” he bit out. “And Mother, stop staring at me like that. Hermione knows and she … isn’t completely opposed to the idea.” Hermione snorted indelicately. Not even an hour ago she’d been arching under him and asking him to kiss her. No, she was not completely opposed. 

Narcissa said nothing. Hermione was uncomfortable after their icy encounter in the hallway the afternoon before, but when she looked into Narcissa’s face all she saw was relief. In fact, the other witch appeared to just barely be holding it together. She pursed her lips and dabbed them with her napkin. “Well then,” she said, her voice a hoarse whisper, “I suppose that’s wonderful.” She nodded to herself and then glanced up at Hermione. “And have you determined whether or not you’ll accept Draco as your Veela mate?”

“Mother,” he snarled.  
Startled, Hermione sat back in her seat and took in the animosity between the two Malfoys. Before, she had seen them playful and exasperated with one another, but this was something darker. Her stomach dropped; maybe Narcissa wasn’t happy Hermione was Draco’s fated mate. 

Well.  
That was just too damn bad.

“Yes, actually, Narcissa. I have determined that I’ll be accepting Draco as my mate.” She glanced at him and grabbed his nearest hand with both of hers. “This is all still very new and rather a bit … unexpected. But Draco and I are hardly strangers. We’ve been building a friendship for quite some time, really.” 

“Of course,” Narcissa said. Something was still off. Every muscle in her body appeared to be locked. 

“Mother,” Draco said softly. “It’s going to be okay.” 

A few tears escaped and as she exhaled a heavy sigh. “Yes, darling. I think it might,” she said with a grim smile. 

Hermione was struck then by how awful this must have been for Narcissa; her only child first wrapped up in a war and then fated to be a unbonded Veela for so long. “Narcissa,” Hermione said gently, “There is no version of this life where I leave him to die. I promise.”  
  
The other witch gave her a thin, watery smile that didn’t reach her eyes. But Hermione thought she understood; when you dedicate part of your life to a fight, once it is over, it can be hard to trust you don't have to fight anymore. 

“This is sweet,” Donka said. At Draco’s glare she insisted, “No, no really. This is very nice. A nice start.” She waited for Draco to take a large sip of his coffee before she asked slyly, “So, how was the sex?”

Later, seated around the coffee table in the library, Hermione could appreciate that Donka had put up with a lot from Draco over the years. She’d been with him since his difficult early days as a 17-year-old, newly presented Veela. She’d consulted with him when he’d been awaiting trial in Azkaban, and had been brewing his potions for nearly just as long. So, yes, Hermione could appreciate that Donka felt she had a right to having a sense of humor about the whole thing, but she doubted anyone else saw it that way. Draco had immediately lost his thinly held control when Donka asked her question. With fangs and talons making a sudden appearance, he’d choked on his coffee, shattered the porcelain cup he held and therefore the tablecloth was now stained with both blood and coffee.  
  
Narcissa had excused herself to return to the Manor and collect her research on Veela bonds for Hermione; she, like Draco, worried about the old family curses rumored to be on the family archive and was going to duplicate the research before bringing it over to her. Donka insisted on running a diagnostic again to assess if there had been any changes in the imperfect bond their magical cores had started on their own. She had reluctantly pulled it out of Draco that he wasn't actually comfortable attempting much with Hermione while he didn't have control of his Veela. To this, the elderly witch rolled her eyes, and said, "You have enough control. I am sure you could manage." 

Now they sat much as they had that first time. Draco clasped Hermione tight to him and lowered his walls enough to take her pain. He saw many of the same memories as before, but also memories he knew she couldn’t have. Weasley and him taking down one of the wizards who threatened her years ago. Him drunkenly proposing to Weasley as if the git were Hermione. When he saw the bloody horror of his own body curled up under his wings as he dragged his talons through the meat of his back, he leapt back from Hermione with a jolt. Their connection lost, she immediately was subjected to the pain of the spell. She whimpered and curled further into him, as he tried to reach out mentally and reconnect. It was no use.

By the time Donka was done, Draco was cradling Hermione on the floor. His fangs and talons were on full display and he was panting as if he’d just run a marathon. She sat in his lap shivering as the last waves of pain ended.  
  


“Hmm.” Donka leaned over her own lap and assessed them. “The bond is healthier, Hermione’s core is healthier, so it must recognize the change between you, even if you haven’t slept together or had a formal binding ceremony.”

“That’s good,” Hermione said brightly. Donka didn’t immediately reply. 

“What’s wrong?” Draco asked. 

“It should be more.”

“More,” he questioned.

“Better,” Donka stipulated. “Honestly, you deprived yourself of your mate so long, I just... Well, it is no matter. We’re getting there.”

“What do you suggest?” Hermione asked. 

“Well, be together. Not just this silent work alongside each other you do,” she said with a vague wave toward the other end of the library where they’d holed up to study the Marriage Law. “I want to see you talking or doing activities. Go flying.”

“No, absolutely not," Hermione said.

Draco tried to hide his smirk by turning away, but Donka caught it. “Ah, Draco, is your mate scared of flying?”

“I am not,” Hermione countered hotly before he could say anything. “I just think it is impractical and, and … dangerous.” 

Draco smiled knowingly at Donka. “And that’s just how she feels about flying on a broom.”

“Of course that’s how I feel about flying on a broom! How else would we be flying?” At the amused grins she was getting from both Donka and Draco, Hermione assumed she’d missed a rather key bit of what they meant. “How else would we fly?” she asked Draco. “Wait, you don’t mean… your wings? Can you fly with them?” At his answering laugh, she flushed. Of course he could fly with them; all Veela could fly and she _knew_ that. She seemed to be having a remarkably difficult time marrying her knowledge of female Veelas with her understanding of Draco. “Don’t laugh at me.” She elbowed him, hard.  
  
“So flying is out for the moment,” he said.  
“Indefinitely,” she corrected. 

“What would you like to do?” he asked. She sighed. They really did need to work on the Marriage Law; she felt a tingle in the base of her neck and then Draco said, “No Marriage Law today. Just for today, let’s have this.”

“But we still need to--”

“We have time.”

“But Theo--”

“We have time.”

Hermione sighed. “We don’t have much of it. 

“Letters just went out five days ago, love,” he kissed the top of her head. “We have enough time.”

Donka stood and, placing a great deal of weight on her cane, turned to make her way out of the library. “Whatever you do, you need to be feeding the bond. Think of it like a little puppy or kitty, Ms. Granger. It relies on you to give it attention right now.”

“Donka,” Draco called in an innocent tone. “I’m still waiting for you to fork over the rest of this week’s potions.”

“Draco,” Donka called back mockingly. “I will send Misty with a few more, but it is time for weaning. You don’t need potions when you have your mate.”  
Hermione was entertained to realize she could feel some of Draco’s annoyance within herself, rather than just sense it from him.  
  


“She’s not nearly as funny as she imagines herself to be,” Draco groused. “Well, the weather is shit today, so I’ll save convincing you to fly with me for another day. How about we open some of those boxes of books you ordered? They’ve been waiting for you, you know.” With a great deal of concentration, he was able to rein in his fangs and talons. Once he’d put himself to rights, he leaned over Hermione’s back to place a careful peck to her eyebrows that were furrowed in thought. 

“You really aren’t going to let me anywhere near the law?” she asked flatly.

“What law?” He smiled as she huffed and pulled herself away to stand up. 

“Fine. Let’s go through your new books.”

Draco stood. “I believe you mean your new books.”

“You paid for them.”

“Yes, for your shelves,” he said. He made his way over to where Tilly and Misty had been stacking each new box as it arrived; he used his wand to spell open the first box he came to. “What shall we start with? This French bookseller out of Marseilles is a particular favorite of mind.” He bent down to pull out a trio of books from the box. When he stood and turned back to look at Hermione, he was surprised to see a look of deep confusion on her face. “What? What’s wrong?” he asked. 

“My shelves?” she said, puzzled. 

“Yes.”

“You’re giving these shelves to me?”  
  
It was almost offensive how distrusting she was of him, he thought. 

“No. Hermione,” he sighed and gave a self-deprecating little laugh, “as far as I am concerned, the whole library is already yours. It has been from the start. I acquired this house after I presented as a Veela. _You_ triggered my manifestation. I knew you were my mate and I _hoped_ to one day provide you not with a house, but with a home. Here. With me.”

“These shelves…”

“I saved specifically for you.”

She stood there, with her arms folded tightly across her chest and studying the room as if she’d never seen it before. Draco was alarmed to see how upset she appeared when she finally turned back to him. He placed the books in his hand on the shelf and walked toward her with measured steps. “Hermione Granger, to be perfectly clear, _everything_ is for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! The next chapter will be meatier and will up by Sunday. <3
> 
> Hope you are healthy and managing your mental health! Mine has looked like this for about a week:


	14. Chapter Fourteen

_“No. Hermione,” he sighed and gave a self-deprecating little laugh, “as far as I am concerned, the whole library is already yours. It has been from the start. I acquired this house after I presented as a Veela. You triggered my manifestation. I knew you were my mate and I hoped to one day provide you not with a house, but with a home. Here. With me.”_

_“These shelves…”_

_“I saved specifically for you.”_

_She stood there, with her arms folded tightly across her chest and studying the room as if she’d never seen it before. Draco was alarmed to see how upset she appeared when she finally turned back to him. He placed the books in his hand on the shelf and walked toward her with measured steps. “Hermione Granger, to be perfectly clear, everything is for you.”_

Chapter 14

It is a funny thing to be handed something you thought you always wanted, to just suddenly get the thing you know you’re starving for; it’s painful. Everything else is thrown into stark contrast. You realize that what once was enough, was always just getting by. What once was contentment, is now an echoing hollowness within you.

Hermione stood frozen watching Draco approach her carefully. Feeling guilty for making him cautious and furious for feeling guilty, she started, “Draco--” He froze leaving a gaping maw of space between them. “This is… just… “

“Too much?” he suggested flatly, as if it was always a foregone conclusion. Perhaps, for him, it was. 

“No,” she said. Then she thought again and added, “Well, yes, but...” Looking around at the room, she chewed her lower lip. Sweat beaded along her hairline as her chest tightened:not too much, but _wrong._ “I need time,” she said.

“Time?”

“It's been ten years for you. I’ve had a day,” she choked out. It would be easier if she didn’t have to watch the way her words shifted and repainted his understanding; without his walls up, he was an open book.

“Right,” he said. “So, this morning was what?”

“I like you. I do. And yes, I’ve maybe been attracted to you for a while.”

"Maybe?"  
  
She sighed, "You're a very attractive man, you know this."  
  
“But it isn’t enough.”

“It is enough for a start.”

“A start. We’ve known each other for--”

“I can’t trust you.” They were the exact wrong words. A faint pounding began behind her eyes. “Well, rather I know intellectually that I can trust you, but it doesn't feel as it should. We were friends before and then you ignored everyone after that mission with Justin -- which we are absolutely discussing at some point -- and next thing I know you’re just standing about _smirking_ in my office and being rude to me.”

“I don’t smirk,” he griped, arms crossed, and turned away from her. 

She stared at him in disbelief. “Draco _sodding_ Malfoy, you speak in smirk. You are fucking fluent.” He shrugged his shoulders and turned back to look at her with just a hint of a sly grin toying at the corners of his mouth. “See?” She gestured to it, “Look! Smirking.”

“Care to find out what else I’m fluent in?” he asked.  
  
“Yes, I would actually. That’s my point.” At his puzzled look she continued, “While you were making a study of me, I had no idea. I was working on Mermaid Habitat Preservation acts and advocating for Greyback’s victims. I was dating assholes, getting recklessly drunk on occasion, and actually _fucking_ other wizards! How could you possibly stand it?”

Draco wasn’t smirking any longer; in fact, his face was the sickly pallor Hermione recalled from the war. “Draco, I want you. _I do_. And I accept that you’re a Veela and I accept that I am your mate.” She smiled and shrugged helplessly, “I just -- I can’t help but wish I _knew_ you better.”

“You know me, Granger,” he said. His hands were tucked loosely into the pockets of his trousers; his stance was relaxed except for the way he held his shoulders tight and slightly off kilter. “I am exactly as you’ve known me to be these last few years, just something else as well.”

“I knew a man who saved me seats at the bar, who teased me relentlessly, sparred with me over proposed legislation, wrapped me -- at times almost violently-- in his scarves, and walked me home. That man was kind under everything, kind _always_. Even when you disagreed with me.”

“That’s still me.” He was nearing desperation, she could hear it in his voice. “I just would like to be the one who buys your scarves, as well as the one who wraps you in them.”

“Then who was the surly bastard that ignored me in the office?”

“I know I was a prick,” he started; Hermione scoffed. “I do! I know. I do. I’d … well, I’d started to give up.”

“Give up?”

“Granger, from the very moment of my manifestation and my realization, I always knew I’d never deserve you.” He took a step back and raked his hand through his hair, grasping tightly before letting it fall. He locked his gaze to her’s. His eyes were flat once again. His walls firmly in place, keeping him safe from her. “I will never deserve you, Hermione.” She was looking at him like he was one of the gamekeeper’s tragic cases, some wounded and disgusting creature in need of help, he thought. “You haven’t asked yet,” he said. “You haven’t asked about my manifestation.”

“Well, I figure that’s yours to choose when--”

“The Manor. When my aunt was torturing you, I--”

“You don’t have to--”

“I do.” It was important. “I hated you for getting captured. I’d always hated you for being better than me. My first week home every summer was a litany of ‘Draco, how could you let her beat you once again;’ I hated you for that. I hated how effortless you could make things look sometimes.”

“Well, actually, I can assure you, I put forth a great deal of effort,” she said with acerbity.

“I know that. I do. If I stopped to think of it, I knew. And sixth year, I didn’t care about my class standing. I was trying to keep him from killing my parents.” Trembling, he said, “I don’t think I’ve ever hated anyone the way I hated you and those two tossers when you were brought to the Manor. I was terrified. I’d like to think that if I wasn’t a Veela, I’d still have lied and tried to protect you, but at the time the only thing I could feel _driving_ me was the need to make it all stop, to somehow make it so it wasn’t true, so you weren’t there.”  
It was a world all wrong. Hermione Granger was meant for libraries, Hogsmead weekends, Yule Balls, exasperated eye-rolls, warm smiles, and derisive little sneers sent in his direction when he finally managed to get under her skin. Hermione Granger should never fall into his aunt’s grasp, never writhe screaming under the Cruciatus. Hermione Granger should never have stepped foot into the hell that was his childhood home. 

“It was an amalgamation of horrors, Hermione.” He clenched his hands to hide the shaking. “I couldn’t believe you three were there. I thought surely now he’d won and all our lives were over for nothing. I was suddenly ill. I felt like I was burning or like some clawed creature within me was rending my skin away from my muscles. I could see you, but everything was off-kilter, barely discernible. After you escaped, my father took one look at me and knew. He locked me in my room until my mother could find a house elf to get us out of there.”

“Was it painful?” Hermione asked.

“Yes, but I mostly can’t remember it. A full day passed and then I was left a sweating, panting, and horrifyingly naked monster.”

“You’re not a monster.”

“Claws. Fangs. Wings. If I’m not a monster, I’m a terrifying and bloody big bird, Granger.” They stood in silence. “I woke up and all I could smell was you. I could have tracked you halfway across the world in that moment. I closed my eyes and swore I could hear you crying. Sedatives strong enough to fell a hippogriff are the only reason I didn’t escape from my family and come to you.”

Hermione grinned sadly. “Can you even imagine? I would have hexed you into another era.” He allowed a slight uptick of his smile. “I never would have made it without Severus.” Hermione’s gaze shot up to his. “He had spent years training me in Occlumency at that point. Using it was his idea; he knew I could harness it to keep control.”

“And you’ve relied on it ever since,” she added flatly.

“It was a gift. It was a gift to get this far.” Draco rolled his neck, and when next looked at her, his expression was a gathering storm. “I hoped without expectation. My actions these past few years were born out of a fierce need to protect you and a childish hope that fate may find a way. You want to know how I can stand it-- why I’m not some deranged monster shackling you to me?”

She nodded, even as a part of her, a big part of her, quivered with trepidation. 

“You are the most important person in my life. Not because if you were to reject me I’d die, and not because I have this slavering beast locked away that demands I mate with you. You became the most important person in my life while I kept him locked away. Occlumency was the greatest gift because - for as distant as you feel it makes me- it let me be present in my own life all these years, to be your friend, and to fall in love with you.”

The words seemed to suck the air from the room for Hermione. Why did hearing them hurt her so much? 

Draco, ever relentless continued. “I gave up on us. After Justin. More to the point, I gave up on me, really.” Hermione pushed past him to the boxes of books. She glanced at the one Draco opened and pushed it toward him with her foot before opening another. “And what’s that supposed to mean?” Her voice was no softer than it had been before, but Draco realized with no small amount of amazement, she wasn’t leaving. 

“Justin was bluffing,” he admitted. “As far as Potter was able to determine, he never actually had any muggle drug he intended to use on you. He’d just noticed I was pathetic over you and is a prick.” Hermione paused in her unpacking of her box, but didn’t say anything. “He’d been playing nice overall, but at the end of the day he wasn’t happy when the new assignments came down and he was assigned as my junior partner.”

“Your record is - was stellar.” She looked up at him with narrowed eyes. Draco just held up his left forearm, the sleeve covering a Dark Mark now long dormant and faded. “He’s a shithead,” she said tartly.   
  
Draco grinned. “Yeah, he is.” “  
  
He should have been fired. I can still press charges. You can claim--” she paused.   
  
“What? Mate’s Rights? We’re not mated and they’ll come back and say I was in the wrong, that I endangered Finch-Fletchley’s life by not disclosing my status.”

Draco joined her and continued removing books from his box. He placed them in piles sideways on one of the shelves, so they could clearly read the titles and sort them appropriately when the time came. “I’d never hurt anyone,” he admitted softly. “As a Veela, I’d never hurt anyone. I couldn’t risk being discovered while the war was still on. And really, I was able to keep such tight control of myself. I thought that while I definitely looked like a monster, perhaps there wasn’t really anything monstrous about me. And then Justin… I was an ass to you. You’re right. I was furious with myself and I was terrified of you.”

“Me?”

“You’re the thing I can’t -- I just can’t -- I’m completely out of control where you’re concerned.”

“That scares you.”

“It should scare you.”

She weighed this. “I think it scares you more, though.”   
  
“Yes. It does. It has always been easier to have my walls up and keep you away then to risk being open to you."  
  
“How is that supposed to make me feel, Draco?” When he didn’t reply she wheeled around to face him head on. “I’m your soulmate. But you still treat me like something beneath you.”

“It was never my intention--”

“Don’t you see it doesn’t matter what you intend! This is my life and you’re just trying to _manage_ it for me, like I should just fall in line!”

“Am I interrupting something?” Narcissa stood in the doorway to the library. “Draco, Donka needs to meet with you about potions and ingredients. Ms. Granger, I have the duplicates from the family archives that may interest you with regard to your new role.” She held a black wool bag that appeared to be quite heavy.  
  
Draco sighed just loud enough for Hermione to catch it. He leaned toward her and said in a hushed voice, “I have been a bastard, but even when we were at Hogwarts, I knew you were too good for me. You always have been. I never want you to feel as though you are in any way beneath me.” He then straightened and strode toward where his mother was unpacking her bag at his work table. He exchanged a short greeting with her to determine where in the house Donka was and then strode away without a backyard glance. “Come, Ms. Granger,” Narcissa said. “If nothing else, the Malfoy marriage contracts are always a great source of entertainment.”

  
  
Draco found Donka back in her sitting room. If he hadn’t known the place had been left in disarray the day before, he wouldn’t notice the subtle signs of violence now, but as it was he noticed a scratch etched into the wooden door that hadn’t quite been completely repaired and a few wayward splinters stuck in the carpet fibers that the elves missed in their cleanup. “You needed me?” he asked.  
Donka didn’t deign to answer, just settled herself further back in her chair so her diminutive feet dangled above the floor. She gestured with her wand and a small hassock sailed over and settled itself beneath her feet. “Right,” Draco said as he sat himself in the armchair nearest Donka. He leaned an elbow on the arm and waited for Donka to begin. 

Donka had her hands carefully folded in her lap and her head tipped back, eye closed, in a look of peacefulness Draco thought was rather misplaced. “Donka, if this is just to fuck with me, can you please not?” he asked.  
“Always so aggressive,” she said gently, her eyes still closed. “We’re reducing your potions by half.” He gaped at her. Half was impossible.  
“That’s a death sentence.”  
“You’ll be fine,” Donka said breezily. “You just need to keep your Occlumency shields down when you’re with her; let the magic guide you and let the magic work.” At this she sat forward, her eyes clear and alert.  
  
“I can’t be open without the potions, you know that.” It was taking everything in him to stay seated rather than jump up and pace the room in panic. “The potions keep me calm enough to not--” he struggled to find the right word, “-- hyperfixate on every little thing she does. We need to focus on the Ministry and--”  
“You need to focus on your bond, Draco.” The new harshness of Donka’s voice stopped him short. “You know the Ministry didn’t make provisions for Beings with human mates. You took note of it even as you chose to ignore it. This isn’t going to be as simple as some threats or some blackmail. Your mother said your name wasn’t on Miss Granger’s list.”  
“I am prepared for the possibility that they’ll not want to recognize the bond at first.”  
“You’re going to have to prove the bond. It will be tested.” When he didn’t reply, she pushed the point further. “You’ll fail. They’ll lock this up in litigation and march Miss Granger down the aisle to some other wizard.”

Draco leaned his head back against the chair in misery as her words washed over him. “Then I need to appeal to the ministry right away. The sooner they reject the claim, the sooner Hermione and I can mount a defense.”

“That’s stupid idea, Malfoy,” Donka said with a snort. “Grow your claim, your bond. Make it undeniable, so they’ll have to approve your union.”

“Oh and how do you suggest I do that?” he snapped.

“Well, they’ll have a hard time marrying her off if she’s clearly pregnant --”

“Are you mad? Have you actually lost it this time, Donka?” he raged. “We are not creating a _child_ for the _ministry._ A baby is not a weapon to be wielded!” He admired his talons that were once again making an appearance. “And anyway, convincing the Ministry they have to let me have Granger will be easier than convincing Granger I’m actually worth it.”

“Do not underestimate the power of an unchecked government to do exactly as they please to whosoever stands in their way," Donka said darkly. "As for Miss Granger, if you cannot convince her you’re ‘worth it’, if you cannot complete the bond, the Ministry _should_ reject you,” Donka said darkly. Draco got up to leave. “Where are you going? We’re not done here.”  
  
“I need to see a Weasley.”

“As you can see, the Malfoy bride holds all the power in negotiations,” Narcissa said as she handed Hermione a copy of her own contract to Lucius after they’d gone over Draco’s grandparents’ and great-grandparents’ contracts.  
  
The Malfoy contracts were an uncomfortable mixture of odd requests (never serving pheasant at Christmas, always having a wolfhound on hand) and medieval demands ranging from magically binding monogamy clauses and predetermining which magical schools their potential offspring will attend to which hexes the partners were allowed to throw at one another for various offenses. “The older the contract, the more distasteful,” Narcissa explained with a shrug.  
  
Hermione’s eyes snagged on one of Narcissa’s demands in her contract. “The peacocks were yours?” she asked with a smile.   
  
“Of course! Lucius always hated them, and I felt he was getting far too much from this.” Narcissa and Lucius’s contract was significantly shorter than the other two Malfoy contracts. At Hermione’s questioning gaze, Narcissa clarified, “We were an ever elusive pureblood love match. These other contracts are clearly negotiations between people who are resigned to life building a life together; Lucius and I wanted a life together. My mother felt I wasn’t making him suffer enough. You know she made my father surrender two properties to her, for her exclusive use, for the duration of her life. She never even did anything with them; he always did hate her a little for that.”

“And that’s a good thing?” Hermione asked. Wizard rituals of love baffled her still.  
  
“One wants one’s betrothed to feel _something_ for them. When you accept love as an impossibility, I suppose anger is more exciting than indifference, and wizards and witches alike do love to complain and compare their contracts. But you needn’t worry about that,” Narcissa said. She placed her hand over Hermione’s and squeezed gently. “My son is utterly in your power, and as such I expect your contract will be quite short-- I cannot imagine he’ll be able to bring himself to make any demands. However, as his very disgruntled mother, I must insist we find something suitably ridiculous for you to write into his contract.”  
Hermione grinned. “I’m surprised. I expected you to warn me away from him.”

“I love Draco, but he had me do an unbreakable vow to ensure I couldn’t talk to you on his behalf and tell you the truth about his condition. After all these years of fearing he’d die and being completely powerless to help, I find I’m rather partial to the idea that his marriage contract may cause him discomfort.”  
  
“That’s horrendous,” Hermione said. Narcissa shrugged it off, so Hermione added, “and I think we may be getting a little ahead of ourselves.”

“Yes, we are. But the Ministry is going to require you to file a match with them soon, so this isn’t so far off in the distance as you might prefer.”

“I don't know if he told you, but Draco wasn’t on my Ministry list, you know,” Hermione said.  
  
Narcissa paused where she was shuffling through the duplicated journals she’d brought with her. “I see.”

“He says that people at the Ministry know about his status even though he isn’t officially registered.” She took a deep breath before continuing, “I’m worried they’ve kept him off lists on purpose. He hasn’t received a letter yet… and Beings don’t appear to be covered in the text of the law at all.”  
  
At this Narcissa met her gaze, “Yes, well, I suspect the Ministry would be only too happy to deny my son one person who could guarantee his happiness and continued life.”

“Did they--” Hermione gestured to the duplicated journals belonging to Draco’s Veela ancestors, “-- have similar obstacles?”   
“They had their struggles, but no, your situation is quite unique. There’s always been a … _respect_ for Malfoy betrothals and for Veela relationships. Unfortunately, neither of these things appears to be quite true anymore.  
  
"I brought these so that you could see other Veelas and their mates. I imagine this has been overwhelming for you, and these witches have experienced-- not the exact circumstances-- but surely the same overpowering sentiments.” Hermione nodded, but said nothing. “As you read, I’d like you to consider keeping a journal yourself,” Narcissa said. “This affliction is handed down through the male line, but it isn’t active in each generation. Who knows what our world may look like by the time the next Malfoy heir presents, be it your son or great-great- great- grandson.”

Hermione’s stomach churned at the thought of suddenly being thrown into this storied lineage. There was a great weight to being a part of these old families; she’d seen it with the Weasleys. “I’ve never really been one for writing to a book,” she said, thinking disdainfully of Tom Riddle’s diary Lucius had given to Ginny Weasley. 

“Then write to yourself,” Narcissa said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So extremely sorry for the massive delay. My work situation has been a bit up in the air/ stressful due to Covid and no one making a firm decision on what things are going to look like moving forward. Plus, I'm in the middle of a transfer that is not going smoothly. 
> 
> I should not have such a huge and unexpected delay in posting again!!


	15. Chapter Fifteen

Chapter 15

Draco was looking for Weasley.  
  
The dingy office at Grimmauld place was dimly lit and appeared empty at first glance. A sudden movement in the shadows, a shifting in the light, and Theo’s pale features were revealed as he turned. The sudden movement took Draco by surprise.  
  
“Theo,” he said as he approached. “They aren’t missing you at the Ministry?”  
“Not as such. No.” Theo’s eyes looked particularly haunted in the yellow light of the office. He glanced over his shoulder to the chaotic evidence board and said, “Not much point in keeping me around now that I’ve made it clear I don’t intend to play along.”

Draco stood in stunned silence.  
“They’re giving me until the end of the month and then it’ll be off to Ireland with Sam.”  
“So it's done then?” Draco asked.  
“Yeah, mate. It's done.” Theo shot him a challenging glare that begged Draco to fight him on this. He’d seen the look often enough during their shared childhood. They’d pick unseemly arguments and attempt to physically wrestle sense into one another far from prying eyes. There was a particular abandoned classroom that smelled of mildew on the same corridor as the potions classroom. Draco had once been thrown into a precarious stack of desks there during fifth year. He’d come back at Theo and broke his nose for it.  
  
He felt a familiar itch of wanting violence, a simple and straightforward violence, to communicate how overwhelmed he felt with everything.  
  
Wracking his brain, he searched for anything meaningful to say. “The law--”  
“Actually says very little about the treatment of those of us who are deemed noncompliant,” Theo said. “I’m quite lucky. Dean and Seamus are helping us out.”  
“You still have, what fifteen days?”

“Sixteen. Technically.” Something in Draco’s expression must have revealed his heart, because Theo’s expression softened ever so slightly and he said, “It could be worse. I could be losing my wand, or being obliviated, or… sprouting great ugly bat wings whenever I’m aroused or Granger’s threatened.” He smirked at the faint blush beginning to play across Draco’s cheeks. “I get to keep my magic and I get to make a home with Sam. The way I figure it, the bloody Ministry is doing me a favor. Who knows how long it would have taken Sam and I to commit otherwise.”

 _What about your home here? What about your citizenship? Won’t you be sad? Lonely? Why aren’t you burning the Ministry down in fury? When did we become so exhausted with living we stopped fighting for our lives?_ But these questions suffocated within him under their own weight and what came out was, “What about your estate?”  
A shrugged response. “I’ve spent so many years detesting it. I think… Well, if they won’t let me keep it, I’d like for it to be put to some _good_ use.”

“The orphanage could certainly use the space,” Draco said. “Maybe expand those programs you and Granger mapped out.

“I would like that.”

“We’ll have to see how the Ministry feels about me declaring their Golden Granger as my mate,” he said ruefully. “I suspect there will be push back.” He grinned at this, but Theo ignored him in favor of studying the Persian rug matted down with decades of dust and debris beneath their feet.

“Who exactly in the Ministry knows of your Veela status?” Theo asked. Draco didn’t reply and Theo tried again. “Who in the Wizengamot knows?”

“You mean who did I threaten the last time?” 

Theo conceded with a nod. Before he could reply, Draco was interrupted by a harried looking Weasley falling through the fireplace floo. 

Weasley took the brunt of the fall with his palms, before rolling his body upright and lurching forward. He didn’t appear to be harmed, but a strained look in his eyes didn’t bode well. “Oh good, you're here. Did you tell him?” These last words he directed at Theo. 

“Was getting there.” 

“Tell me what?” Draco asked. Rather than answer, Weasley just continued to make his way across the room toward them brushing soot from his robes and trundling into the ever-present scattered chairs.  
“The reason we aren’t making any headway in figuring out who targeted Hermione’s flat is because the Ministry wasn’t digging in-- they already have a suspect.”

“Excellent,” Draco replied.  
“Not quite. Robards was keeping it from Potter and… well, us.” Theo gestured blandly to Ron as he spoke. At Draco’s furrowed brow, he explained, “It’s you, Draco.”

“What?”

“It makes perfect sense, really,” Ron interjected with the matter-of-fact tone he got when he was briefing on a closed case or walking an opponent through the strategy he’d just used to annihilate them in Wizard’s Chess. “Think about it: there’s significant destruction without actual danger. No one was injured--"  
  
"Because she wasn't there!"  
  
Ron continued,as though Draco hadn't spoken. "--clearly the fire was controlled. It would take a wizard with incredible command over his magic to slice the couch as neatly as they did and prevent the Fiendfyre from running rampant in the building, let alone down the alley itself. So a wizard of great power and control who also has a vested interest in forcing Hermione Granger from her home… and into his.”

“Why the hell would I--”

Theo cut him off. “Because enough of the Wizengamot’s underbelly know you are an unregistered male Veela and the natural assumption would be that Hermione is your mate.” At Draco’s disbelieving look, he added wryly, “ You haven’t even looked at another witch in a decade. And you really laid it all out for them when you threatened them over the law _she_ was dedicated to fighting.”  
  
Ron nodded. “I think that nasty business with Justin was designed to test you, make sure she was the right screw to turn or to see what control you have, perhaps to see what they’re up against. He must have been paid off or threatened. Damned stupid risk if you ask me,” he said.  
  
Theo added, “ I always thought you were terribly obvious with your infatuation.”

“In--In-- Infatuation?” Draco exclaimed. “I’d literally die--”

“Yes, yes,” Weasley waved his concern away. “The point is, what started out as Theo’s pet fringe theory is apparently right. I took Harry’s cloak and started tracking some of the other Auror teams this morning and caught Robards telling them to be ready to move because he’d have an order for your arrest by the end of the day.”

Draco’s stomach dropped in horror. _Azkaban._ “I can’t be-- I can’t go to-- Hermione will be unprotected.” It was every protective instinct battling with every instinct for self-preservation at once. Draco sat gracelessly on the floor. “If I’m brought in…” he trailed off.  
“They’ll use your safety to keep her in line,” Weasley said. Theo stared hard at Draco. They both knew his safety would be a fleeting thing if he were separated from Hermione now.  
  
“Weasley, whatever their aims, it isn’t my safety. They’ll use me to draw her out and then get me out of the way quietly or on some trumped up charge … they’ll hurt her or marry her off to anyone they like. They’re never going to allow her to publicly decry the law and emigrate as a refugee.” 

  
  


* * *

  
  


Hermione spread the duplicated journals out in front of her across Draco’s bed. As she worked her way through the entries by Draco’s relatives she jotted down notes of her own in the blank journal Narcissa had gifted her. The cover was dark blue, buttery soft leather and embossed with an intertwined H and D in gold. She cradled it in her lap as she worked. 

Some entries were dull, a simple recitation of events or chores, while others were titillating in their breathless detail as their writers described the intensity of their yearning, the physical sensations they experienced as they grew their relationships with their Veelas. Hermione felt an instant kinship with these mates when they aired their grievances over possessive behavior or highhandedness, though personally she’d assumed these qualities had more to do with Draco being a Malfoy than a Veela. She desperately wished any of these Malfoy Veelas had kept their own damn journals documenting their particular experiences. _Spoiled brats._

Listlessly, Hermione drifted from entry to entry; she noted the mates' symptoms and where they seemed like something she too had experienced like the aimless restlessness and apathy that permeated her life in the previous years. She kept a separate list of symptoms she was sure she’d never experienced: dream sharing, and something described as a sort of phantom touch where the Veela could send a comforting, or erotic, touch to his mate while they were separated physically. She shivered with anticipation; that was something she was very interested in indeed.  
She turned to the last journal. Alina Malfoy, an unhappy 18th century Russian witch; she was heiress to a fortune made by illegally transporting Goblin made jewelry throughout Europe and Asia. Convenient how these mates were always wealthy and lovely.  
It appeared Alina detested her Malfoy in-laws and her Veela mate. _Things could be worse,_ Hermione mused. The entries, in tiny, spidery scrawl, were vitriolic and packed closely together. Alina told of how the Malfoy's had paid her father a ludicrous amount of money to take her away with them after she'd only met their son once, in passing, at a ball. There really wasn't much mention of her Veela at all. She described how cold she found Wiltshire; how unforgiving she found her in-laws.   
Then, nothing. A gap of years. The entries were sporadic after that. Dinners, parties, all tossed about with the names of unfamiliar places and and the long-dead. The birth of her son, Septimus. Then, the occasional entry about his growth. Hermione flipped through the pages and found the majority of the them blank. A charm? Or curse? She went back to the last entry.  
  
_April 18, 1778  
  
__  
__It is cruelty itself. To experience such pain-- and still awaken to each new day. I am flotsam borne along by freezing, violent tides. Today marks two days in this waking death. My love._ _  
_  
_My love.  
__  
__The papers reported it as experimental magic gone awry. Such a lacklustre end for so fine a creature? How could anyone believe it?_ _  
_ _The only solace is knowing you got him in the end. The curses seemed to have hit simultaneously as best I can tell. All was darkness as you fell. I know the instant your heart stopped beating and breath left your body- for it was that instant that a fiery ice ran through me and dragged me down into a tumult blackness, only howling winds-- my own screams?-- can I remember. Everyone says a mate can live without a Veela, and yes, time passes; I see the changing of the days through the parting of my curtains. This is not life._ _  
_ _Our Septimus shall ruin them. I will make sure of it. Never shall the House of Michaels know a moment’s peace whilst I still draw breath._  
  
  
  
Merlin.  
Well, whatever Alina’s distaste for her Veela and his family at the start, she certainly got over it in the end. If Draco had grown up reading these journals, then he surely knew of Alina’s hatred and disgust when first married and mated to his ancestor. Alina was just a spoiled wealthy witch without a choice, how much more hateful would she have been if she’d had years of bullying, prejudice, and then acts of war -physical torture- between herself and her mate? 

The clock ticked on with no sign of Draco. 

Hermione took up her journal from Narcissa and scribbled the date in the upper corner. 

_I_ _am_ _mad at him. He has managed everyone just as he sees fit. I mean, to force your own mother into an Unbreakable Vow? Disgusting… desperate. That’s where my anger falls apart. I can feel the desperation in Draco more and more. He was misguided, but every action he took, all these years of keeping the truth of us hidden, was designed to protect the life he thought I wanted._ _  
_ _  
_ _A life free of him?_ _  
_ _  
_ _I am disappointed. I don’t need to be doted on, I don’t, but I would like to feel appreciated and as if I have a say. I also don’t want this on these terms._ _  
_ _  
I want Draco to have forced me into one of his stupid scarves and marched me to the pub after work. I want to have been halfway through my meal just realizing that no one else was joining us as he leans into my space and steals chips from my plate. He did that -- he had those chances, why didn’t he ever just -- step up?_

_I want his stupid, imperious face staring down at me as he shoves a ridiculously fussy bouquet of flowers under my nose. I want him nervous because he loves me and not terrified because he is already so incontrovertibly dependent on me._

_  
I want us to have a love story, just once, instead of a war story. _

  
  


She slammed the cover closed and tossed her journal aside with the others. She laid back on the bed and let the constellations on bed’s canopy shimmer and disappear in a blur as tears fought their way free.

  
  
Sometime later she heard banging from down the hall.

The door burst open suddenly and she fired off a stunning spell that ricocheted back at her with equally fierce intent. She rolled off the bed, slamming to the floor as the spell’s energy shattered the bedside lamp into a fine fall of grit and minute shards of glass. 

“Merlin, fuck!” Draco yelled. He flung himself on and over the bed to get to Hermione on the other side. “What the hell was that?”

“I guess we have our answer.” She blinked up at him, dimly aware that the obliterated remains of the lamp littered her body. At Draco’s continued look of troubled confusion, she smiled widely. “I couldn’t hurt you. You said once we were bonded properly it would take effect, but--” here she offered him her hand, and he grasped her by the wrist to gently tug her upright, “--it appears we’ve already progressed to that point so…”

“So?” Draco asked distractedly as he used his wand to siphon the bits of lamp off her skin and clothes. 

“So… I very much doubt you’ll accidentally manage to mutilate me mid-orgasm.” She grinned.

“Ah.” He didn’t look up from where he concentrated on inspecting her sleeve for glass. 

“Ah? Really? You’ve been in enforced celibacy for who knows how long and all I get is an ‘ah’? How lowering.”

“No,” he said, straining for control. “‘Ah’ as in ‘Splendid. I’d love to fuck, darling, but the Ministry have a warrant out for my arrest, so we need to pack and --”

“Why--”

“Please, Hermione. I’m begging you. Pack, and meet me at Grimmauld if you don’t see me by the time you're at the floo. I have to grab my mother and the elves.”

Hermione was left blinking at the empty room. 

An undetectable extension charm, a few flicks, and featherlight spell later she was pacing in front of the floo wondering if she should wait for him. 

As she stepped away toward the door to check for him, he came barreling through with a bag slung across his shoulders and with a house elf holding on to each of his hands.  
“Granger, go! Here, take these two through with you.” He handed Misty and Tilly off to her like they were children, transferring first one tiny elf hand to hers and then the other. “Mother!” he bellowed over his shoulder. Turning back to her, he said, “Go on, go. I’ll follow once I have her and Donka.”

“I should wait. You’re the one they’re after.”

“Hermione, they know about us. They’re after you, because if they have you, they have me on my knees willingly and they know it. Go. I am begging you. Please.” He reached above her for the floo powder from the mantle. At his nod, she stepped into the fireplace with the elves. Draco leaned forward, roughly kissed her, and whispered, “Soon.”

He then stepped back, threw the powder, and whisked away from view as Hermione hurtled toward Headquarters. 

  
  


Tilly and Misty clung to one another as Hermione paced the length of the office and Theo brought her up to date on the latest developments. The floo at Grimmauld remained stubbornly empty. It had been ten minutes. Ron, who had returned to the office after he talked to Draco earlier, now sent his patronus barreling through the wall.  
  
_"Stay put. Do not leave. No matter what.”_ _  
__  
_ In the ringing silence that followed, she stared at the space where the silver dog had just been.  
Theo gaped at her as she turned back toward the floo. 

“Hermione!”

“You heard Ron. Something’s gone wrong. That’s why no one else has made it through yet. I have to--”  
“Stay the fuck put!” Ron yelled as he half fell through the doorway. He was bent over, supporting Donka and gasping. A disheveled Narcissa trailed in after them; hollow eyed and unsteady, she met Hermione’s gaze and crumbled. 

She rushed to Narcissa’s side. Hugging her, Hermione surreptitiously checked her for injuries, but saw none. A streak of wet mud along the side of her cloak and raised scratch that didn’t quite break skin along her jawline were the only evidence things had gone sideways.  
“Where is he?” Hermione asked softly. “Narcissa, where’s Draco?” Narcissa rocked forward shaking her head, but said nothing. “Ron, where is he?” she asked desperately. 

“I’m sorry, ‘Mione.” Ron shook his head as he lowered Donka into one of the ancient overstuffed armchairs. “I went with Harry’s cloak to try to help, but… they already had him cornered.”

“How? I don’t--”

“The floo was shut down and, well, you know what his apparition wards are like. I had to get Narcissa and Donka off the grounds through the back gate in order to apparate us here.”

She was tilting dangerously over a precipice. 

“What… Oh, Ron. What are they going to do to him?” Hermione whispered, hoping Narcissa wouldn’t hear her. “What’s the purpose? He’s my mate, they can’t really think to marry me off to someone else.”

Theo approached then. “Granger, you’re both a threat to this law. If they’re feeling pressed… and they might be, well, I don’t think we can rule out anything. I have it on good authority that I’m hardly the only one submitting a formal notification that I’ll be playing refugee in another country. Both of you are a threat. You because you’re the face of the opposition.”

“They need me married, barefoot, and pregnant while smiling pleasantly for _The Prophet_ on the front page,” she said bitterly. 

“No. They have to know better than that. They need you _silenced._ Kingsley may still be telling himself they can marry you off, but make no mistake, most of the others know the only version of Hermione Granger that doesn’t challenge them is a dead one.”

“And Draco?”

“They can torture him, and they will,” Ron whispered. “But they’re going to come for you eventually, and if you’re dead … so is he.”

“We need another option,” Hermione said as she studied Donka’s hunched profile in front of the empty fireplace. “Donka, how much time does he have?” The older woman hunched over further. Hermione rounded the chair and sank to her knees. Whispering, she pleaded, “Please, Donka. How much time can we be apart before he gets ill?”  
“How you dare to assume there is any time at all,” Donka hissed. A lone tear fell from her eye; it was quickly joined by others. 

“There has to be.”

“The bond has its own demands. Its own magic. You two could afford to be foolish while you were physically together but apart? No.”  
“Our bond is strong!” It had to be. Hadn’t it protected them earlier from Hermione’s spell?

“Your bond has been delayed many years. It is unpredictable, if it is in place at all.”  
  
Furious, Hermione rose to her feet and demanded, “How long does he have, Donka?”  
  
“He had a decade!” she shouted back, her voice breaking. “He had a decade," she repeated. A whimper from where Narcissa now huddled with the house elves called Hermione’s attention. Harry had arrived and was kneeling beside Narcissa speaking softly to her.  
  
“There’s no hope,” Donka rasped.  
  
“That’s bollocks,” Hermione snapped. “Harry, do you have anything useful?”  
  
“Possibly. It might mean nothing, but,” he stood and directed his next sentence to Ron and Theo, “Justin’s scarpered.”  
  
“That fucking rat,” Ron growled as Theo swore.  
  
“We’ve no idea who he is working with, Hermione,” Harry cautioned, “but we can likely track him.”  
  
Hermione started, “If you’re wrong, if it’s not Justin--”  
  
“Do you honestly doubt it?”

“No, but Harry, it’ll be both your careers if we can’t prove it.”

Harry grinned at Ron. “Yeah well, I figure it’s because of you that we even lived long enough to have careers, so…” he trailed off with a shrug.  
  
Donka rose from her seat; shakily, she leaned on the top of the chair. “Mr. Potter, it may be a fool's errand. He may already be dead.”

Theo raked his hand violently through his hair and ground out, “Then we bring him home.”  
  
Hermione thought back to the journals. Entries and entries of symptoms and feelings. “He is alive,” she said.  
  
“You can feel him?” hope tinged Narcissa’s voice as she stood.  
  
“No. But that’s how I _know_ he’s alive,” she said. Cautiously, she approached Narcissa. “If they’d killed him, I would feel that. The bond _is_ strong enough. I know it is.” She gently drew her mate’s mother into a hug.“We’ll get him back. We have to.” 

* * *

  
  


Draco’s body, practically vibrating with pain, felt like he’d gone drink-for-drink with Hagrid. That was a mistake he would never repeat. It had been a fundraiser two years ago, they were both seated at the Potters’ table and Hagrid sneered at him for most of the night. Prickling under the waves of derision coming from his former Care of Magical Creatures professor, Draco had sneered right back. Old habits and all that. Hagrid narrowed his eyes over a glass of fire whiskey as he took a sip, and Draco mirrored his action in a misguided attempt to hold his metaphorical ground. Well, he couldn’t quite recall how holding his metaphorical ground went, but he could vividly remember how he’d spent the next morning holding his physical toilet. 

Now, he was curled up on his side against a freezing, damp stone floor. 

_Hermione._ She’d gotten to Grimmauld. At least that's something. He’d sent his mother and Donka out through the garden and toward the towering hedges that would offer them cover. He’d caught Weasley’s freckled face out of the corner of his eye and flicked his head back toward the window to gesture to the garden. Weasley nodded once, with the same stern determination he always brought to the field, and disappeared behind Potter’s blasted cloak. Weasley would have gotten his mother and Donka to Grimmauld and they’d all be safe. _They’ll be okay. They'll all be okay._ Weasley and Potter would die before they let the Ministry take Hermione.

Now that the Ministry had him, Draco felt a stillness within. It was a settling, a certainty: _this is the end, and … it's okay._ He hadn’t lived these years yearning silently on the sidelines of Hermione’s life because he’d ever truly believed they’d have a chance to be happy for any duration of time. It was this thought that carried him out of consciousness. 

Hours later Draco woke to light tremors of pain running up his back. It felt as though it had been happening for sometime and his awakening had rather interrupted its course. It was notable to him because, as far as he could ascertain, this pain didn’t radiate from a particular wound. It was coming from deep within him and running up his spine and nudging at the base of his head. The temperature, already cold, felt as though it dropped further while he was unconscious.  
  
A cavernous emptiness filled him. Silence. Cold. She was gone. Absent. Whatever his captors had done, they’d completely cut him off from his tether to Hermione. This pain then was the beginning of mate sickness. 

A shriek of metal scraping metal ruptured the silence as the door to his dank cell was opened. Hot air, carrying the scent of decay and mildew rushed in. Draco squinted against the light, but only made out a dark shadow. His healing was not working, he realized with a start. His eyes were nearly swollen shut, but hours must have passed since he was attacked. Whatever they’d done to him, it was well researched. The kind of knowledge that one cannot simply pay or work for. The knowledge of how to bring low a Veela like him, that was family knowledge. It had to be.  
  
“What do you want?” he rasped out. If he could identify his captor, he could--

“What do I want?” a familiar, plummy voice asked. Draco growled. ”I want to watch the great Draco Malfoy finally get what he deserves.”

“Damn you, Finch-Fletchley.”  
  
“You can’t have everything, you know. It’s a new day. The Malfoy’s are finally facing consequences- real consequences. And your precious partners and their golden girl cannot reach you.”

“They defeated the Dark Lord. Do you really imagine you’re more clever?”

“Please, you forget I was there; they got lucky. And anyway, I’m a humble servant in this endeavor.”

“Fitting,” Draco spat at him.  
  
“Now, now, Malfoy. I’d hate to go back to my bosses and tell them you were being uncooperative. Perhaps a little refresher in true pain will remind you of your manners.” A shadow fell across Draco’s limited vision. 

“Indeed, I think it might,” a new, deeper voice said. Without warning, fire raced across Draco’s skin. Where before his joints felt frozen with cold, now they were numb with excruciating pain. His wings erupted, his talons sliced across his palms and dug into the pitted stone floor, his molars ground down so hard he felt sure he’d break them. 

As a fire receded, he bit out around his fangs, “That’s forbidden.”

“Only on humans and domesticated pets; there’s special authorization to use the Cruciatus on dangerous creatures like you, Malfoy,” the man said.

“Malfoy, allow me to make introductions,” Justin sneered. “May I present my boss, the Head of the Department of Mysteries, Maximilien Michaels. I believe your families go back quite some time.”

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the kind comments and messages on Tumblr.❤️ It has been a hard couple of months: regular anxiety, job anxiety, election anxiety, dog with a chronic illness anxiety, and you know, pandemic anxiety. I do appreciate all your comments and kudos. I hope I'm starting to get back into a good rhythm of writing regularly. <3


	16. Chapter Sixteen

_As the fire receded, he bit out around his fangs, "That's forbidden."_

" _Only on humans and domesticated pets; there's special authorization to use the Cruciatus on dangerous creatures like you, Malfoy," the man said._

" _Malfoy, allow me to make introductions," Justin sneered. "May I present my dear friend, the Head of the Department of Mysteries, Maximilien Michaels. I believe your families go back quite some time."_

**  
**

**Chapter 16  
  
**

"Doesn't ring any bells, I'm afraid." Draco ground his molars together against the aftereffects of the curse tearing down his back.

Michaels chuckled darkly. "Carless. But then your family is responsible for the destruction of so many families, I imagine it would be an uncomfortable existence to both recall the facts and face your peers each day." The room was suddenly flooded with blinding light that burned behind Draco's closed lids. "There little Malfoy. Now let's have a good look at the fabled monster." Rubber soles bending against the concrete floor. The vibrations of shifting weight tickling his ear drums. The snapping and buckling of his wing as a fierce kick struck him in the gut and he landed on his back.

"You know, when my grandmother told me the stories about the Malfoy Veela, I always wondered how you got away with it? Pretending to be human. Laying claim to an enchanted and privileged human existence. Why bestow royalty on a mongrel? When I got my first job in MACUSA, I saw firsthand how few secrets there really are among our kind. I saw how-" here he spat on the floor, flecks of mucus hitting Draco's cheek, "- _complicit_ everyone is."

Draco's eyes had adjusted enough to make out the man's features. Vaguely familiar. Like the voice, an itching in his brain saying _we've met somewhere before._

"How does a git from MACUSA end up head of the DOM?" Draco's growled. _Forgive me, Mother,_ he thought. He was absolutely going to goad the son of a bitch into killing him faster.

"How does a sniveling little prick go from prison to one of the most respected Auror's in the office?" Michaels threw back at him. "Dogged determination. Swift intelligence. And money in the right places."

Draco scoffed. "Yeah? Well, you've got me beat on that one."  
  
"Please, even in the States they know the value of Malfoy gold."

"Couldn't pay off anyone while it was all tied up by the Wizengamot, could I?"

"Don't play the fool with me," Michaels said, his voice flat and bored. Dropping into a crouch, he twisted his head to examine Draco's twisted and mangled features. His expression turned thoughtful. "But with a mate like the … delectable Miss Granger, I suppose the Wizengamot had to give you your freedom, didn't they? Can't deprive wizardingkind's heroine of her one true love."

He lashed out to slash Michaels throat with his talons but the iron bindings caught him before he could get within reach. "You leave her out of this!" he snarled. "Whatever grudge you bear my family, she is innocent."

Michaels stood and nodded once to Justin. "See that he stays miserable and double down on the wards." He turned to Draco with a smirk. "You didn't think I was just going to kill you? After the years of work I've put in? No, I need to see your suffering. And I will, just as soon as Miss Granger and your mother get here. We didn't have quite as much time as I would have liked to lay the clues, but it can't be helped. I haven't decided who I'll start with just yet. Killing your mother will certainly cause you pain, but I think watching Granger's spirit first break and then slowly fade with the light in her eyes will be most satisfying."

* * *

  
  
George, Angelina, Ginny, Molly, Arthur, Neville, Bill, Fleur, and Susan sat around picking at sandwiches and tea at Grimmauld's kitchen table in a tableau uncomfortably reminiscent of those old Order meetings. They had answered an emergency summons from Harry. Hermione stood behind where Donka and Narcissa sat slightly away from the rest. She was acutely aware that she no longer fit with her old friends quite as neatly as she once did. She studied each of the faces seated at the table. When the wealth of their experience was considered, they were an impressive bunch on paper, but they were fighting an unknown enemy.  
  
Was it Kingsley? Had their old friend fallen so far from the light? Was he being blackmailed by other ministers or members of the wizengamot? Was Robards behind it? He certainly had access. He'd hid his suspicions from his two top aurors. How did the Marriage Law supporters fit in?

Ron and Theo had gone to see if they could set a trace on Justin. They needed to be in a location he had spent time in in the last twelve hours. Harry had made sure the Weasley's were all present and accounted for and then, with a rushed kiss to Ginny and each of his daughters, he had taken off without a word. The sound of the next generation of Potters and Weasleys playing nearby made the whole thing worse. The ministry wanted her. They had attacked Draco. Now her best friends' families were in danger.  
  
Before Ron and Theo left, Theo had hugged Narcissa rather forcefully and sternly reminded her not to let Hermione out of her sight. Narcissa had sent him a quelling look and sneered. However, it had not escaped Hermione's notice that she had not in fact promised or said anything at all.

Arthur was frowning at Narcissa. "What I don't understand is, how did they get into his house? Surely, it was warded against intruders."

"Intruders, yes." Ron answered as he made his way through the door and came up beside his father. "But each of us has our primary residence on file with the office. In the event that..." he trailed off and caught Susan's drawn features. "Well, just, you know, in case things go sideways. They have access to reach our families, if needed."

"Did you find anything on Justin?" Hermione asked. Ron grimaced.  
  
"We know he stupefied his partner and disappeared with Draco. A witness said it looked like a portkey and not side-along apparation.

"A portkey? Oh dear," Mrs. Weasley murmured. A portkey meant they could be anywhere.  
  
"If it was international-" Mr. Weasley started.  
  
"It wasn't," Ron said.

"They'll want to be somewhere somewhat nearby," Theo added, as he walked into the room. "Still in the country at any rate. We have to assume that whatever this is, the end game is still getting Hermione."  
  
The door opened once more, revealing a dirty and disheveled Harry Potter. He had mud caked in his hair, his glasses askew, and a trickle of blood down the side of his face from a cut on his cheek.  
  
"I think we need to assume we don't know what the end game is," he said wearily. He looked at Hermione and then Narcissa. "I was watching Kingsley."

"And?" Narcissa's voice was sharp.  
  
"Well, something isn't right with him, but I don't know that that alone means he's innocent." He addressed Ron and Theo, "There's a magical signature all over the office. In the halls and chambers outside of it as well. Murky, obscured. Not like anything we'd find hanging about when the person involved is completely clean."

"Harry," Arthur said in a warning tone, "You don't know Kingsley's doing anything."

"I know he isn't stopping whatever is happening, Mr. Weasley. Maybe he is being enchanted or manipulated in some way. Maybe he isn't fully to blame. However, someone definitely has access to his office, has had access, for a while by the looks of things. How could his security detail miss it?"  
  
"Why do you assume they did?" It was Susan who piped up and asked. Harry blinked at her owlishly behind his glasses. "I mean," she continued, "If someone wanted to control or threaten the Minister, they'd have to be able to guarantee the security detail was under their control as well, or in on the operation the whole time."

Ron nodded thoughtfully, "Loyal to the mastermind and not their Minister."  
  
"Right. There's always that possibility, I suppose," Harry grabbed behind his neck and pulled as if to loosen a muscle.

"Great," Ron said. "Our Minister of Magic is either the victim of or perpetrator of dark crimes. We've no idea which is most likely and the workforce put in place specifically for his protection is, best case scenario, completely incompetent. Worst case scenario: they are complicit in his schemes."

  
"To what end?" Ginny asked. "What do any of them get out of this."

"Money. Power." Narcissa raised one dainty and sharp eyebrow as she met Ginny's eyes from across the table. "It would break your heart to know how easily the world can be bought and sold on the merest promise of both."  
  
"Safety," Hermione whispered. Donka turned around in her chair to lock her gaze up on her.  
  
"Miss Granger?" Donka croaked.

"Nothing, just that safety is as compelling as money and power. Not for one's self, but, certainly one's family."  
  
Narcissa turned to Hermione and captured one hand in both of hers; she squeezed them tightly in what may have been reassurance, but Hermione only felt numb. She cleared her throat and said, "Is there anything we can act on?"

"Care to rough up our esteemed Minister of Magic?" Theo asked dryly.

"Can't say I mind at the moment. Do you know where he is?" she asked.

"No." Harry turned to Theo, "Nott, absolutely not happening."

"This ends one of two ways: she either lives or she dies," Theo said gesturing to Hermione. "That's it. I understand that we don't have enough information and we don't have enough manpower to overthrow the Ministry, if that's where this is headed. I do get that. But I don't see those facts changing anytime soon." Theo clenched his jaw and met Hermione's eyes. The exhaustion there was the culmination of a childhood filled with fear, and a life full of distrust. He sighed and said to her, "We're either working toward life or we're waiting on death." She nodded. He wasn't wrong.  
  
"Draco is alive," Hermione said as she turned to first Harry and then the rest. "I know I'd feel it if he were dead, but we're on borrowed time. 'The fish rots from the head,' so that's where we start."  
  
It didn't escape her notice that Arthur and Molly kept silent. Kingsley was their friend, their ally in two wars against Voldemort. It was inconceivable to them that he should have a role in this, but then, they weren't appalled by the Marriage Law either.  
  
"You don't have to come," Hermione said to them. "I know he's your friend. But you do need to speak up now if this is going to be an issue." She prayed it wouldn't be. She prayed it wouldn't be. She didn't want to strain these relationships further by having to incarcerate the Weasleys to ensure they stayed out of the way.  
  
Molly looked at Narcissa, considered her pale terror, and said firmly, "We're in. If Kingsley is innocent, he'll find it in him to forgive us."

With the Weasleys on board, it was only a matter of planning. Ron laid out a sketch of the Minister's offices. Hermione was fairly certain just the presence of such a parchment in a private residence was breaking about six laws. That was before one added the compounding factors of them using the parchment to plan what, in the right light, could be considered akin to a coup.  
  
"I'll need Ron with me to help reveal the extent of the magic," Harry said.

"You'll need Bill as well," Fleur said. She had her arms crossed in front of her resting on her heavily pregnant belly. "No one could hope to have control of the Ministry without using curses. You need a curse breaker."  
  
Bill didn't meet their eyes. His gaze was locked on his wife and unborn child. With a sigh, he sat back and nodded grimly.  
  
"Hermione, Narcissa, and Donka will stay here," Harry said.  
  
"I certainly will not," Hermione replied.   
  
"You're a target. We cannot ignore that all of this may just be a trap to lure you out into the open."

"Harry, do you really still think this is only about the Marriage Law?"

"I don't know what it is about," he bit out with a look toward Narcissa. "But I'm sure the Malfoys have made more than a few enemies along the way."  
  
Narcissa looked up from the scratched surface of the kitchen table to look at Harry. "I could not have said it better, Mr. Potter. All the names I keep coming back to, they're dead or imprisoned. They were all Death Eaters. I think it would have to be someone who hates us from your side." She glanced at Hermione. "Someone who hates us for not receiving harsher punishments. Perhaps someone who noticed Draco's affinity for you and feels they must do this on your behalf?" She said it as a question, but Hermione didn't reply.

She bit down on her anger and caught George's eye. He had a calculating look on his face. The years had been kinder to George than he would have liked. He still retained the youthful looks of his troublesome younger self, which made mirrors and birthdays especially difficult.  
  
"Hermione, Angelina, and I can scout locations. You have a list of possible places they may have Malfoy?" George asked.

"Your barking," Ron replied. "That is more dangerous than breaking into the Minister's office!" He started pacing, "If they are at one of these places, we'd be hand delivering Hermione to them."  
  
"He's my mate, Ron." Everyone swiveled to look at her. "He is. He needs me. I need him, too. I'm not sitting this out. I know the danger. And I am sorry, I really am, that I'm putting the rest of you at risk, but …" Stray tears rolled down her cheeks and dripped off her chin. "He's my mate."

It was overwhelming. She'd felt so hollow and numb, she chalked it up to stress, shock, fear. Now it was a cold terror. This could be it. There may never be another walk home in the snow wrapped up in his scarf. She may never get to cash in on the promise of his teasing kisses when they'd been in bed. The absence of Draco, the absence of his presence in her life, was a gaping black maw waiting to swallow her whole standing just out of sight, lingering in the far reaches of her peripheral vision.  
  


* * *

Draco felt a shift. Something warm, foreign, and growing in its intensity. Burning. It was burning out the cold from his bones and warming him from within. He studied the dark for shadows, but found none. It had been hours since Justin and Michaels had seen him. Locked away in the dark as he was, deprived of his sense of sight, he could feel the warmth acutely. He focused his mind on tracing it, learning it. _Mate. Hermione. Mate._ It was distant, but it was there. A bond. One he could _feel._ One that came from her.  
He concentrated on the feeling, imagined running his fingertips across it as he longed to skim them down her spine and feel every dainty knob of her vertebrae through her skin along the way. He directed his mind to conjuring up the image of her, the shape of her, and he reached out to her with both arms. He imagined folding her in his embrace as his wings enclosed them both in a dark humid safety. She shuddered beneath him, opening her thighs to cradle him against her, and biting her lip against the sensation.

He thrust against her. Imagined laving her breasts with his tongue, sucking every bit of salt from her skin until she was covered in his scent. Only then would he suck her straining nipples into his mouth. _Fuck it._ He was dying, this may be as close as he got to the real thing. He surrendered to it.  
  
He caressed the figure of Hermione gently, then pulled her forcefully against him. His senses were overwhelmed with the scent of her as he bit down on her nipple and a breathy little whimper escaped her lips. One of his hand buried in her hair, clasping the back of her head, his other smoothed over her hip and drew inward to burrow between her legs. She was soaking for him; he knew she would be. His thumb flicked over her nub as he turned his wrist to better-  
  
A hard, warning pressure against his wrist. Nails scraping harshly against his scalp. His image of Hermione twisting away, stopped him on the precipice. The warmth of the bond he had felt from her was now burning, hot and embarrassed. Panting he plucked at it carefully. Only for her to withdraw it nearly entirely.

"Step aside!" Ginny shoved Theo and Harry out of the way to get to Hermione.  
  
One moment Hermione had been making her case, the next she was bent forward, leaning heavily against Donka's chair, and gasping as if in pain. She'd wrapped her arms around herself, leaned back against the wall, and slowly collapsed into a heap against it. Now on the floor, Ginny could see a slightly dazed and angry quality to her far off look. "Hermione," she called to her as she tried to pull her friend upright. "Hermione, can you hear me?"  
  
Hermione's mouth twisted angrily. She blinked several times and , if one ignored the high flush, looked nearly normal as she said, "I'm going to kill him. I'm going to save him. And then I'm going to kill him."  
  
Donka looked on with a twisted look of glee. "You felt him? You could actively feel him through the bond?" she asked.

"Could you?" Narcissa's voice cracked as she asked. Hermione nodded.  
  
"Oh, I felt him," she replied dryly. Murder. She was going to murder him slowly.

"Did he have a message? Could you tell anything about where he is being kept?" Donka asked.  
  
Right. A message. Clues. Those would have been more helpful than nearly bringing her to orgasm in front of what amounted to all their friends and family. Hermione scrubbed her hands over her face. She tried to focus on how she'd last felt him- a glimmer, a shadow somehow in her mind and within her body at the same time. She tried to catch that feeling. She sent a question toward it. A plea.  
Nothing.  
  
She curled in on herself, gripped her head with her hands and, this time with her mind as close to a void as she could manage to block out the sounds around her, she sought him out. A tentative knock on the shadow she'd seen before to ask for permission.

He grabbed at her.

The shadow was illuminated and she could see his pale skin, his awkwardly folded wings, and a flash of his fangs. She smelled blood. He was clasping her, his tongue licking the delicate skin behind her ear, in a blatant bid to pick up right where he'd left off. _Oh no you don't,_ she thought as she pushed away from him to try and see around him. _Where are you?_ she asked. _Help me- not like that! Help me get to you._ It was then that she felt the cold iron chains on the floor. She followed the links up to his wrists. She ran her hands down his legs, feeling him shudder as her nails scraped lightly across his leg hair, and found manacles around his ankles. The chains were long, but with Iron… She met his hungering mouth in a fierce kiss, before pulling away from him to resurface.  
  
"He's wrapped in iron." She looked at Donka. "He's imprisoned in it. And something is wrong with his wings. I couldn't tell what." She looked at Narcissa. "There's blood. The smell is overwhelming and -" she thought back to his hunger, uncharacteristic in its greed, his single minded focus in seeking comfort from her body, "- he doesn't think we're going to get to him in time."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!
> 
> My goal is to be completely done with this fic soon, so updates should start popping up every few days. Thank you so much to everyone who is reading, leaving kudos, and commenting😍.


	17. Chapter Seventeen

**Chapter 17**

"Harry, Ron, if you have an idea of where he is…we have to try. We don't have time." Hermione held her fists against her chest, as though she could knead out the burn that lived there and pulled her to be with her mate. Harry and Ron exchanged an uncomfortable look.  


"Hermione, all the locations are associated with Justin. This feels like a wild goose chase."  
  
Hermione pressed on. "Kingsley… We'll question him then. Can you summon him, Harry?"  
  
"He still has access to this house. In theory, he shouldn't be able to bring anyone with him, but I'm not taking that risk with our children here."  
  
"Then we have to go to the Ministry. We have to start somewhere!" she yelled. She saw the uncomfortable looks everyone passed around the room.

  
"Hermione, you're talking about possibly attacking the Minister of Magic," Mr. Weasley said gravely.  
  
"Mr. Weasley, I am a Veela's mate and my mate is being withheld from me. I think you'll find the law is rather lenient in situations such as these."  
  
"Shit," Harry scrubbed his face with his hands. "Alright then. We're headed for the Ministry."

  
It was decided that Harry, Ron, Bill and Hermione would go after Kingsley at the Ministry while Narcissa, George, Angelina, Neville, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley waited for a patronus telling them where to meet them once they knew where to begin looking for Draco. Fleur and Donka took all the children back to Shell Cottage, a protected location Kingsley never had access to during the war.  
  
Before they left, Donka grabbed Hermione's upper arm in a surprisingly biting grip and murmured to her, "If he is far gone, if he appears near death, you can bring him back. Remember that."

At Hermione's questioning silence, Donka continued, "You have a bond you can feel, use it. You must feed it. You will know what to do."

"Donka, I rather think our instincts have proven to be an irredeemable disaster so far."  
  
"You give yourself to save him."

"But if I die, so does he," Hermione replied. Donka rolled her eyes in frustration.  
  
"You give yourself," she repeated slowly. "You just-" here she gestured with an outflung hand that meant nothing to Hermione. "You need to screw him and create the mating bond. Time for foreplay is over. Mate and be done with it." Disgusted, Donka stalked away muttering to herself.

* * *

  
It was the first time Hermione had stepped into the Ministry building since she'd fallen ill with what she now recognized as some twisted mate sickness. If she'd imagined a world turned upside down by the passage of the Marriage Law, she was wrong. The Ministry appeared much as it always had: bustling, crowded, and everyone too busy with their own lives to notice three wizards charmed with the disillusionment charm and one witch following on their heels in an Invisibility cloak making their way through the halls.  
  
Large posters in pale pink with lurid magenta script declared, "Register your marriage date soon to guarantee time off for your honeymoon. Availability limited across all departments!," "Madame Malkin's Matrimony Collection: Redesigned for the Modern Match!," and "Honeymoon in the Highlands! Recapture the Magic of Childhood with these Enchanting Cottages!"  
  
Hermione huffed and rubbed absently at her sternum. It was too much to hope that the resistance was advertising in the Ministry's lifts; still, she was disappointed. She tread softly as they made their way through a little used labyrinth of narrow corridors Ron promised led to the Minister's private chambers. The lights grew dimmer, the air colder, as they got closer. Hermione could feel the prickle of magic, enchantments designed to protect the Minister.  
  
She sifted through the sensation of the magic reaching out for her and examined it, finding it slippery underneath- dark. These must be the spells the boys had been referring too. Harry stopped suddenly and Hermione bounced off of his back as she ran into him nose first. She steadied herself against the wall.  
  
"Here… can you feel it?" Bill hissed. When no one replied, he said, "It's gonna take a moment."

"Be careful," Ron warned. Bill scoffed.  
  
"Yes, mum."

Hermione felt the hair on the back of her arms prickle as there was a shift in the atmosphere. Bill's harsh voice muttered forceful incantations. Her vision swam. There was a pressure building in the corridor.  
  
"Shielding charms," Harry called. She threw her shield up reflexively. Her legs felt like jelly. A stress response. Adrenaline. Increased blood flow. It's fine. The burning in her chest she recognized as a tether to Draco pulsed and she tried to focus calm and reassurance into the spot. _Soon, soon, soon._ She returned to the image of him in her mind's eyes, traced her hand down the shadow of his arm until she felt the iron around his wrist. She pushed her fingertips beneath the iron to rub the delicate nexus of his veins. _Soon.  
_  
A harsh pop, a sucking sound, and muttered swear, and then… A perfect silence absent of rustling, airflow, and breath. As a lightness settled into the air, Hermione heard Ron mutter, "Fuck me, that was cool."

Bill chuckled darkly. "Yeah, cool. But that was a heavy piece of work. That's old dark magic I've only ever seen in some of the family crypts that belonged to Death Eaters." Bill had been tasked with breaking into and reappropriating Death eater property as reparations to fund the Ministry after the war.  
  
"The entrance is a bit further on," Harry said. "It's a doorway to an opening covered by the portrait that sits above the Minister's desk." He dropped his disillusionment charm as he pushed past Ron and Bill to take the lead. Ron and Bill followed suit, dropping their charms and looking back in Hermione's direction until she pushed back a sleeve to reveal her hand and waved them on.  
  
A couple of minutes later, they stopped at a thick wall of spider webs. Ron stepped back into Hermione and stood on her foot. She grit her teeth and pinched his side to get him to step off.  
  
"Sorry," he whispered. Harry examined the cobwebs closely, then moved out of the way for Bill to take a good look as well. After a few silent spells revealed nothing, Bill shook his head at Harry and Ron. If it was strange that dark magic had been present in the corridor leading up here, it was stranger still that there appeared to be almost nothing to guard this doorway. Sloppy indeed.  
  
Harry looked to be about to open the door when Hermione shoved her hand past Ron and Bill to grab Harry by the shoulder. "Revealing charms," she reminded him. He nodded and held up his hand. On his fingers he counted down from three to one, and together they cast revealing charms on the door at the same moment. The doorway seemed to melt away and they could vaguely make out the back of Kingsley's head as he sat at his desk. His was the only presence detected.  
  
Bill or Ron pulled Hermione backward as Harry blasted the door off its hinges and through the doorway. As they ran through the entrance, Hermione saw the portrait that was hiding the doorway to the secret passage was now littered in pieces around the room. While the door itself was broken in two clear across the other side of the room. By the time Hermione could see around Bill and Ron, someone had hit the Minister with a silencing charm, Harry stood over him with what she recognized as the Minister's own wand pointed at his head. Ron was using his own wand to wind ropes around Kingsley's wrists and ankles while Bill began warding the room.  
  
Before they left Grimmauld, Hermione had promised to use magic sparingly as they did not know how the new bond would affect her and Donka was very concerned that she may borrow reserves from Draco that he truly just did not have to give. Now, standing before the leader that let her down so gravely, she itched to send a curse his way.  
  
Bill nodded once the room was secured- no one would hear them and no one would interfere.

"We have a few questions for you, Minister," Hermione said. Kingsley swiveled her head to gawp at the empty air around her. She pushed back her hood to reveal her face.

Harry said, "Minister, it has come to my attention that dark magic has found its way to this floor. It has been present in and around you for some time. How did it get here?"  
  
"Is someone blackmailing you, Minister?" Ron asked.

Kingsley didn't meet their gaze.  
  
"Who does Justin Finch-Fletchley work for?" Hermione asked. Everyone swiveled to look at her. "It isn't Robards, is it? Who does he work for really?" At Ron's befuddled look, she continued, "We didn't see Justin for years. Then all of a sudden he's training to be an Auror? He ingratiates himself with our group and starts coming out for drinks, before purposefully threatening the mate of a fully mature Veela? That isn't a pompous ass wanting what someone else has. It isn't only that, any way. He's on orders. Beside that fact, Robards was good to Draco. He respects him." She turned to Kingsley again. "Who does Justin Finch-Fletchley report to?"

Harry dropped the silencing spell on Kingsley. They waited as Kingsley swallowed and readied himself to answer.  
  
"You have to understand," he rasped. "I was trying to do the right thing. The numbers do not lie, Ms. Granger. As much as you may wish they would. The population is not replacing itself."

"I don't give a shit about your excuses." Hermione snapped. "I want the name of who pushed for it and who Justin is working for."

"M-m-mi-" Kingsley choked out. His tongue swelled and his face started to turn purple. Bill swore and began muttering countercurses as Kinglsey fought to make his voice come through.

"Mysteries!" he choked out before losing consciousness. Bill rolled him over onto his back and continued to cast spells. Harry stared in horrified fascination.  
  
"Blimey," Ron said. "What do you reckon?"

"Mysteries," Hermione repeated to herself. She sought her connection to Draco and wondered if she could communicate a word to him. _Mysteries,_ she thought. _Mysteries. What does it mean?_

A wave of alarm answered. Well, that wasn't nothing. She glanced at Kingsley. He was breathing shallowly, but color was returning to his face. Harry was rifling through the Ministers desk, shuffling rolls of parchment one way and then another.

"Accio Marriage Law," Harry said with a flick of his wand. Immediately papers flew into the air and drawers of filing cabinets burst open and spilled their contents on to the floor at Harry's feet. Hermione sighed.  
  
"Let me," she said. "Accio recentius iuris!" Several papers shot up into the air and then neatly assembled themselves into a stack in front of Hermione. She used a quick text finder spell she'd developed to help her sort through contracts for specific information. The only place Mysteries showed up was on official meeting minutes where the department heads present signed off as representing their various departments; there, clearly printed out below a sloppy scrawl were the words Department of Mysteries, Head.  
  
"Who's the head of the Department of Mysteries?" she asked.  
  
Bill looked at her curiously. "It is usually not well publicized. Given the nature of their work. One isn't really supposed to know who the Unspeakables are and certainly not the head of them, but... "

"But?"

"Well, I heard a rumor someone new had taken over awhile ago-"

"How long is awhile?" Hermione pressed.  
  
"More than a year. You usually only know about the Head of the Department of Mysteries once they retire. Which makes sense, as they, like most others, promote from within the department."

"Not this time?"

"It might be nothing, but I heard the Ministry hired someone who'd been doing a similar job in MACUSA."

Hermione looked at Kingsley thoughtfully. "When he's conscious, will he be able to talk?"

Bill sighed. "I'd like to tell you yes, but I'm just not certain. Those were fairly advanced curses, Hermione.

"Only one way to find out," Harry said impatiently. "Enervate!" Kingsley's eyes shot open in surprise. Harry grabbed the parchment from Hermione's hands and shoved it under Kingsley's nose. "Alright, here's what's going to happen. You're going to blink twice if the person we're looking for works for the Department of Mysteries." Kingsley blinked twice. "Now you're going to blink three times if the head of the Department is behind this." He blinked three times.

"That's great Harry, but we still don't know who that person is," Hermione said. The scrawled signature was entirely illegible.  
At that moment, Harry and Ron jumped to attention and turned to face the entrance to the Minister's office.  
  
"Hermione-" Ron started, reaching to grab her out of the way, but before he could finish, the door opened. In the doorway stood Justinia Pilliwickle and Robards. Their wands were held at the ready for a duel. Hermione was alarmed to realize Ron, Harry, and Bill mirrored their stances.

"Ms. Granger, fabulous to see you looking so well. According to my sources at The Prophet, you're supposed to be dead. They're assuming the official announcement will come from the Office of the Minister of Magic any day now and with it a day of public mourning," Pilliwickle said dryly. She didn't seem overly concerned about Ron and Harry standing over the Minister of Magic. "What brings you all here?"

"Looking for Finch-Fletchley," Harry said darkly. "Robards orchestrated the arrest of Draco Malfoy for the murder of Hermione. Clearly," he sneered, "you were mistaken, sir."

Robards, a grizzled man with the look of a craggy boulder, snorted. "Bastard had me under some kind of spell- I came to in the middle of the atrium only to discover I'm missing a month of my life."

"Which is when he came to me," Pilliwickle said. "It appears someone has been controlling the top members of the Ministry."  
  
"And we're supposed to believe they didn't get to you?" Hermione asked snidely.  
  
"They absolutely got to me, Ms. Granger. I reassigned the patrols outside the Minister's office. Everyone who has been patrolling this office for the last few weeks has been too green to notice whatever has been going on. I assume we're looking at some sort of Imperius." She nodded towards Kingsley.  
  
"He can't give us any information. Been cursed. We know that he suspects the Head of the Department of Mysteries, but we don't have access to that information," Bill explained.  
  
Pillwickle snorted, "Of course. The Head of the Department of Mysteries is the one person who sits in on all the top meetings, has access to the Wizengamot, and can remain almost entirely invisible: Maximilien Michaels."

"Michaels?" Hermione asked. "What's his background?" She thought back to the journals Narcissa had provided for her. She didn't believe in coincidence.

"Came over from MACUSA, but has family ties to the UK. There was some family property near Wiltshire." At their blank looks, Pilliwickle explained, "I was on his hiring committee. He was a picture-perfect candidate and came highly recommended by the outgoing head. "  
  
"Right. And none of that set off alarm bells, did it?" Ron asked.

"He's been poking around awhile," Robards admitted. "He was always overly interested in our cases. He said he was working on a top secret project. Signed off by Kingsley himself. Kingsley signed off on Finch-Fletchley's transfer to Auror training as well."  
  
At this Kingsley choked on a cough. He was trying to speak, but gurgled each time he opened his mouth. Hermione turned away from him and stared Pilliwickle down. "How do we get access to Michaels' files? I need the exact address of his family property in Wiltshire and any other addresses he may be using."

Pilliwickle finally lowered her wand and strode forward toward one of the Minister's filing cabinets. She summoned Kingsley's wand with a flick of her wrist and held it up to the smooth front of the metal cabinet. As she did so, a handle began to materialize. Still using the Minister's wand, she summoned the files and sent them flying toward Hermione.

Hermione snatched the files from the air and spread them out on the Minister's desk. A photo of a middle aged balding man with dark, wet eyes that reminded her of a gecko. "Maximilien Michaels - On temporary loan from MACUSA" the file stated under the photograph. The words "on temporary loan from MACUSA" were crossed through twice with bold strokes. The file was scant; it provided the bare minimum amount of information. It was completely absent of a background check. The majority of the file was dedicated to clippings from American wizarding newspapers. They didn't appear to have anything to do with Michaels, but if his job over there was similar to working in the Department of Mysteries, she supposed that was rather the point.  
Only one address was listed and it was indeed in Wiltshire. Hermione summoned a map from her bag and cast a locator spell. She shivered.   
  
"The address he listed… it's quite close to Malfoy Manor… Draco has an ancestor who was murdered by a Michaels. The Malfoy's vowed revenge. I believe they got it. This is some delayed retribution or comeuppance."  
  
"What happened to the Michaels family then? Banished to America?" Harry asked.  
  
"It appears so. They were an old pureblood family, they would have been a name people knew, but this was hundreds of years ago. They've fallen off the records and out of society. They were forgotten. I don't know if Draco even knew about his relatives." She tried to send a feeling of reassurance to Draco through their bond. If he felt it or replied, she couldn't tell; the burning in her chest was starting to reach unbearable levels.  
  
"Well," Bill said. "Looks like we know where we're headed. Now what to do with this lot?"

Harry sent a stunner at Robards while Ron and Bill took care of Pilliwickle and Kingsley. "Terribly sorry, sir, but we can't be too careful you know," Harry said jauntily as he dragged Robards further into the office.  
  
Hermione grabbed a large quill pen from Kingsley's desk and began spelling it to become a portkey. She then duplicated it and carefully spelled it into her bag. "Take this back to Grimmauld and meet us there," she said as she handed the bag off to Bill. He immediately draped the bag across his chest, wordlessly disillusioned himself and was off.  
  
"You ready?" she turned toward Harry and Ron. "It's not too late. I don't know how dangerous-"

Rolling his eyes, Ron checked her lightly with his elbow. "C'mon. Faster we get that tosser back the sooner we can have dinner."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 17 turned into an absolute beast, so I decided to split it. I'm still finishing up Chapter 18, but it is nearly done and the mating is written, so that's something.
> 
> As always thank you for reading, leaving kudos, commenting and sticking with me!❤️
> 
> EDIT: a family member was diagnosed with Covid, so chapter 18 will now be published tomorrow (12/31).


	18. Chapter Eighteen

**Chapter 18**

  
Draco clung to the bond. As much as he did not want Hermione to search for him, to end up in this wretched place to die alongside him, he was hungering for any touch of her. With every passing moment, the bond felt slightly more distant, as though it were fading or cooling. The iron manacles around his wrist and ankles weighed heavier and heavier as they slowly leeched his energy and power. Far more worrying was the fact that Michaels was painting runes around Draco's body. With a bowl of blood and a brush, the man was painstakingly painting the runes as he muttered to himself. He'd been at it for a half hour. He was nearly done, just a few more runes and he would complete the circle. Draco shuddered involuntarily.

"Tell me, Malfoy, how are you enjoying your stay?" Michaels asked. He studied Draco carefully before letting his features melt into a maniacal grin.

"The accommodations are to be expected, but the company leaves something to be desired," Draco forced out. His throat was dry and scratchy. Michaels delicately placed his paintbrush and bowl of blood off to the side. He then leaned over, where he knelt, both hands resting against his legs.

"It is going to be so fun watching you break… and wither," he whispered eagerly. His voice, soft though it was, seemed to scrape against Draco's eardrums. He twisted away from the sound.

Without any further comments, Michaels withdrew his wand from a sleeve holster and swished it once in Draco's direction. Immediately, he felt the fabric of his clothing shift and then cool before finally transforming into ice cold water that drenched him and then disappeared before it soaked the stone floor beneath him.

"There now," Michaels said. "Can't risk anything interfering with the runes, can we?" He picked up his brush once more. Draco watched with trepidation as Michaels completed the last few runes. The final stroke of the paintbrush seemed to stretch out as he grit his teeth for whatever would come next. Then, the world went dark.

* * *

  
The portkey dumped them oh so helpfully in the middle of a forest.

"Why is it always in the middle of a forest?" Ron muttered to himself. Harry quirked a grin at Hermione.

"Lead the way," he said as he gestured vaguely at the surrounding bushes.

"Right," she said to herself. She handed Harry his Invisibility cloak and then cast a spell meant to point them in the direction of the nearest humans. "This way."

The spell led them on the most direct path, which was to say there was a fair amount of stumbling over logs and getting scratched by bushes. After about ten minutes, they could see a large stone edifice looming through the trees.

"It's a castle," Ron said warily.

"It is certainly medieval," Hermione agreed. There were four great grey stone towers crowned with crenellations that she could see. The severe building appeared to be a moment stuck in time. As they grew closer, careful to keep to the treeline in case anyone was watching for them, Hermione saw that the castle was partially surrounded by green, murky water.

"We can't rule out that there may be water creatures protecting the building," Ron whispered. Harry sighed heavily; he'd never cared for water creatures after his encounter with the merpeople fourth year.

"We should wait for the others," he said. "How's Malfoy doing, Hermione?"

She was absently rubbing her sternum. She just shook her head. He hadn't responded in any way she could tell; there was just the now incessant burn, but it was cooling… it was weakening. She closed her eyes and tried to picture him in her mind and reach him that way, but where she'd been able to trace his outline and see him, now there was nothing.

A whispered "Hey!" had them swinging around with their wands aloft. An unamused Bill signaled to them from a tree deeper in the woods.

Ron whispered, "What was the name of my stuffed bear?"

"Reginald," Bill replied.

"What happened to him?" Ron pressed.

"Fred and George turned him into a massive fucking spider." At his reply, Ron relaxed his stance. His parents emerged from behind Bill. Then George and Angelina who both nodded grimly at Hermione. She couldn't help but notice George clutched Angelina's hand in a tight grip. Angelina had her free hand wrapped overtop George's in a consoling manner. Hermione's heart plummeted. Narcissa came next and rushed to Hermione's side and wrapped her arms around her in a stiff and awkward manner.

"Can you still feel him?" she hissed. Hermione nodded, but swallowed any further explanation. Theo, Neville, Ginny, and Susan, with their wands out and at the ready, brought up the rear.

"Alright, listen up," Harry said in full Head Auror mode. "We believe the man who has Draco is Maximilien Michaels, the Department Head for the Department of Mysteries. We expect Finch-Fletchley to be inside and working for him as well, but we don't know how many others there might be." He folded his arms across his chest and stared into each of their faces one by one. "We have to assume they'll be aiming to kill. Our objective is to retrieve Malfoy and return him to Hermione. Now, we don't know if this building. We're going in blind. We're counting on Hermione's connection with Malfoy to lead the way. This means it is imperative she stays invisible." At this he handed his Invisibility cloak back to her. He continued, "It may be that we act as a distraction in order to give Hermione the cover and time she needs to get to him. Do not hold back when you're engaging with Michaels and be on the lookout. We know to expect Finch-Fletchley, but we don't know how many others may be involved." He stared at them grimly.

Ron cleared his throat, and said, "Bill may have already told you, but the Office of the Minister of Magic was tampered with, as were Robards and Pilliwickle. We have to assume the man is skilled at exerting mental control over others. You cannot let your guard down."

Harry nodded and added, "This forest provides good cover, but there's a lot of open land between here and the castle. We need concealment charms, notice-me-nots, the works. Neville, can you tell if there's anything waiting for us in the water?"

"Yeah," Neville said, "but those spells are best for when it is possible to completely avoid a body of water. If there are any creatures in the water, casting the spell will alert them to our presence, and we can't completely avoid them unless you think we can all get through the back. "

"What do you recommend?" Harry asked.

"Forget the spell. Assume there are beasts in the water."

"And?"

"Run fast," Neville said with a grin.

"Helpful, that." Ron said.

In the end, Harry split them into three teams. The advance team consisted of himself, Ron, Bill, and George. They were the most experienced when it came to combat and dark magic, and George was remarkably adept at charms. They would take the most direct route through the front entrance and were therefore most likely to draw the ire of any water creatures that lurked just beneath the surface. Hermione, Narcissa, Theo, Arthur, Molly, and Ginny made up the second team. They would circle around to the back of the castle and try to get in that way. If they could not find a weak area, they would blast out one of the walls. Angelina and Susan would keep watch. If they did not hear from anyone within an hour, they were to return to the Ministry and hope that they could convince some Aurors to come back with them.

As plans went, it was slipshod at best, and Hermione vibrated with tension; she was eager to get inside. She felt certain that if she could just get into the castle she'd be able to follow the bond and discover where Draco was being held. She watched as her friends split into their groups. Harry nodded at her solemnly before casting his disillusionment charm. One by one the people around her turned into chameleon-like blurs as they blended in with the surrounding area. She pulled the Invisibility cloak on once more.

Theo lit the tip of his wand and held it up for their group to follow as they made their way along the curving edge of the forest until they had a clear view of the rear of the castle. Hermione tried summoning her patronus, but it fizzled. She didn't blame it. Between the increasing coldness in her chest and the terror of never seeing Draco again, she couldn't summon a strong enough memory to feed it.

"I've got it," she heard Ginny whisper. A moment later, a small horse erupted from Ginny's wand. "We're ready," Ginny whispered to it. She hesitated and added, "I love you," before sending it on to Harry. Tears stung Hermione's eyes. Was she leading her family to their deaths?

"Head for the crumbling wall on the far side. Stop when you start to feel the tension of a protective barrier," Theo hissed. "We want to wait for the alarms to be tripped by Potter, or for them to send up red sparks indicating they're through." With that Hermione felt the rustling of bodies as they stepped out of the forest and began to run for the castle. She touched her hand to her chest, sent a wave of reassurance into the cooling bond, and ran.

Running in a group while everyone around you was invisible, or nearly so, was part science and part art. Hermione held her arms outstretched to avoid colliding with anyone else. She slowed the closer she got to the castle; tentatively, she felt for a barrier. Just ahead of her Theo suddenly materialized and stood perfectly still.

"Here," he said. Neville and Ginny reappeared as well. The rest remained hidden. Hermione, so she could get to Draco as unencumbered as possible, and the rest so they could have the element of surprise on their hands. They waited, breathing harshly, as they waited for a sign from Harry and Ron. They didn't have to wait long.

Ear-splitting shrieking poured forth from the castle. Hermione doubled over from the initial force of it.

"That'll be the alarms then," Ginny said with brittle cheeriness. "Splendid." The alarm was a best-case scenario, Harry had explained. It alerted Michaels that they were there and would draw him or whoever was working for him toward the front of the castle, allowing Hermione some cover in order to get in and begin searching for Draco.

Theo wasted no time in running through the now faint barrier surrounding the castle. It prickled like minuscule needles running across her skin, as Hermione followed suit. A partially collapsed wall of the castle was their target. It provided enough rubble for them to climb up and over without too much difficulty. As Hermione clambered up the jagged stones, she spared a thought for the Weasleys and Narcissa, hoping they were up to the physical rigors of the task.

Once over the wall, there was a drop of a few feet to reach the floor. Hermione caught herself in a crouch as her feet hit the ground. This opening let sunlight pour into the hallway they'd stumbled into. If it weren't for the continued shrieking of the castle's alarm spells, it would almost seem peaceful: centuries old stones, soft green moss growing over them in shadowy corners, the warmth of natural light, and the twinkling haze of dust motes caught in the light.

"Any feeling from Malfoy about which way to go?" Ginny asked.

Hermione shook her head and, realizing they couldn't see her, said, " Give me a moment." She held her breath and tried to reach into the now dim place where the burning of their bond had been in her chest. She tried to stoke it back to warmth by caressing it, coaxing it. She sought him out in her mind, but where he had been before, he was now heavily obscured. Shadows of varying greys met her- a barrier of perfect silence keeping her from him.

She opened her eyes. There was no help then. She'd just have to pick a direction and hope for the best. She started toward a large door directly in front of them. As she laid her hand on the handle, she felt a chill run down her spine. She backed up a few steps until she was back in the center. As she got further from the door, the chill receded. Maybe not so without direction after all.

Considering her other options, she then headed down the hallway to the right. Iciness stole her breath away and she huffed in frustration. Returning to the center she held her wand and hand out from the cloak so the others could see and gestured for them to follow her down the only other way available to them, the hall to the left. She felt a bubbling inside, like sparkling water choked down the wrong way, and warmth returned to her, gradually, even as they made their way further into the castle and away from the warmth of the daylight.

The castle reeked of damp and a couple centuries of neglect. As abruptly as they'd started, the alarms fell silent. A single suspended moment of silence where every one of them froze and held their breath, then… the sound of an explosion. Still on the other side of the castle, but now the fight was truly starting.

"Hurry," Hermione hissed. She doused her wand and took off in a sprint. She heard the others following her. More sounds of stone erupting and crumbling. Was it getting closer? The bubbling warmth in her chest continued to fizz happily the further on she pressed. A loud explosion rocked her back on her heels. She pushed forward and flattened herself against a wall. That one was close. The fight was coming to them and she still didn't know-

A fiery curse ripped across her vision and sped along the hallway, carving a deep crevice in its wake as it tore across the floor before disappearing in a cloud of burning smoke. Ginny, Neville, and Theo held a protection barrier, but Hermione was on the other side of the divide from them. She held her breath as steps from a staircase just behind her echoed in the room. More than one person was headed their way. Suddenly, the protection barrier dropped. Neville, never one for a poker face, looked terrified while Theo and Ginny immediately took on more defensive stances.

The temperature dropped noticeably and Hermione realized in horror, that her friends appeared frozen in place. Three figures emerged from the shadows of the staircase. Justin came into view, a nasty self-satisfied sneer on his face, and he was followed by an older woman Hermione was unfamiliar with. If she'd gone to Hogwarts, she was a generation or two removed from when Hermione was there.

"Where is she?" Michaels' voice boomed as he walked into the dim corridor. "Hand over Ms. Granger and I'll grant you a quick death. Fight me…" his voice trailed off as he seemed to be savoring the helplessness of her frozen friends, "and I'll _play_ with you before I kill you."

No one moved, though Hermione thought that was rather the point of Michaels freezing them- he clearly had no intention of letting anyone off. He sighed dramatically and said, "Very well. Here's a taste."

Hermione didn't hear an incantation or see any movement beyond a small twitch of his wand hand, but Ginny fell to the ground, clutching her head and moaning brokenly.

"Incredible magic being worked in the Brain Room these days, especially since the end of your War left us with so very many brains to study. Of particular interest are those with a penchant for the darker arts." He twisted his wand hand ever so slightly and Ginny's moans stopped as she was once again frozen. Theo and Neville remained completely still, entirely frozen as they had been since the start. Justin and the woman didn't appear to be doing anything; Michaels controlled the scene completely, and with ease.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are, _Hermione._ " His dark eyes glistened with glee. "Aren't you curious as to how I did it?" he taunted. "You made so many enemies over the years, what with Malfoy going behind your back to threaten everyone into voting your way. Of course, being an unbearable bitch and a mudblood didn't do you any favors." Michaels searched the shadows behind her friends, looking for a sign of her. "I had a horde of easily manipulated fools gaging to punish you, to serve you up exactly what you deserved. After initially getting the ball rolling and getting inside the heads of Shacklebolt and a few other higher ups, it was so easy," he said with a hint of wonder. "It helped that the birth data backed up the claims, sure, but you can never overestimate the willingness of citizens to hand over their liberties in exchange for the promise of _safety, of continuation,_ the promise that life will just be a little bit _better_ someday _soon."_

Michaels brought his gaze back to Ginny. The sounds of the fighting grew closer. "How long do you think your famous husband can last against my loyal _assistants_?" He flicked his wrist and she screamed in pain.

A blasting hex came from behind Theo and Neville to ricochet off the ceiling above Michaels, giving away the game that there were more of them than met the eye. As rubble fell, Hermione sent a body bind jinx at Michaels. She watched him fall and his spells on Ginny and the others lift, she then turned and scurried behind the woman trying to undo her jinx on Michaels. Justin was left trying to fend off the volley of spells coming at him from her friends. She tripped as she ran up the same staircase Michaels had come down, landing heavily against the side of the wall, but used it to propel her further. She was close. She knew it.

The sounds of shouting and spells blasting followed her as she ran down the hall. It sounded as though Harry and Ron had met up with the others. She rounded a corner and paused. Another narrow set of stone steps leading up caught her eye. _Oh please,_ she begged. She held her wand at the ready, her free hand steadied her against the wall, and she silently made her way up the stairs. Breath harsh to her own ears, she neared the top and passed by a small window; she was in one of the towers. A single door lay in front of her at the top of the landing.

_Draco._

She felt the connection begin to hum with relief.

She reached out to the door, casting spells to reveal curses and enchantments, but there were none. Michaels wanted her to find him. Placing her hand softly against the wood of the door, she begged the universe to let her have this one thing. She grasped the handle of the door, cast a silencing charm on its rusted hinges, and pulled it open.

She wasted no time in entering the room and sealing the chamber behind her. Immediately the sounds of Michaels and his minions battling her friends disappeared. The chamber was a perfect encapsulator: nothing stirred in the air, no sound waves, and no movement. Whatever magic was layered within this chamber, it was potent.

A pale naked creature, wings mangled and curling around itself, lay in the center of the chamber. Draco. Brown runes painted on the floor encircled him. Trapping him as surely as the spellbound iron around his wrists and ankles did. The tang of blood was heavy in the air.

"How are you here?"

Draco's voice cracked as he spoke. His gaze, unfocused, wandered in her general direction as though he were not seeing her, but only sensing her. She threw off Harry's cloak and stepped closer. He wheezed a deep breath, his nostrils flaring savoring what minuscule amounts of her scent the room allowed to slip through its barriers to him. Her stomach dropped. He was only sensing her.

"I came for you," she said gently, a tear trickled down her cheek as her own voice broke with emotion. His pale skin was chalky. She could clearly make out the pathways of his veins. The ashen leathery skin of his wings was ripped in places and looked parched and ready to disintegrate in others. "I'll always come for you," she said with more conviction.

"It's too dangerous," he rasped. "Go home, Hermione. Go home." He twisted toward her some more, now his gaze seemed sharper, as if he could just make her out through a dense fog. "Not safe."

"They are not safe from us," she bit out viciously. She kneeled down to peer at the runes painted along the floor. "This is blood magic. I'm assuming those manacles are as well…" She thought hard about everything she'd ever learned about blood magic in the Forbidden section of the Library at Hogwarts.

Draco lifted up on one elbow with a pained grunt. Even that cost him strength.

"You deserve-"

"Ten years you managed not to tell me a damned thing and now you think you get an opinion on what I deserve?" she snapped as she walked the perimeter of the runes, studying them for inconsistencies or weaknesses. Blood magic with runes was precise, one little misstep and it could all be undone. She continued, "Let me tell you what I deserve. I deserve the love of a good man, I deserve a home where I feel safe and loved, and I deserve you, my mate. So stop getting in my way and let me fucking rescue you." Damn. The spellwork was solid. It was a clear containment spell that fed off of Draco's life force. The only reason he was still alive was because he was a Veela and therefore had more to feed the magic. Any ordinary wizard would have been long dead.

Hermione looked up from the floor to see Draco turned toward her and smiling softly, though his eyes remained unfocused.

"What?" she asked.

"I love you, Hermione," he . Tears began to fall from his unseeing eyes.

"Don't- Don't you dare," she choked.

"I do. I'm so sorry I kept this from you. I'm sorry I didn't tell you."

"Don't apologize. I despise that in a wizard," she threw his own words back at him. How long ago that moment in their office felt. He wheezed a laugh.

"I should have made a move sooner-" she interrupted him with a snort of derision "- fine, I should have told you when it was still possible for us to have a - a future together."

Hermione blinked rapidly as her own tears came faster. He had given up. She needed time to figure out how to undo the runes and he was giving up.

He continued, "I love how you are giddy after a tragically small amount of alcohol. I love how your smile lights up a room. I love how your laughter fills me with warmth. I love how you always look angry when you're working and you always look peaceful and content when you're reading for pleasure. I love walking you home and I'm sorry, so, so very sorry that this is all we get."

Through her tears, Hermione looked at the runes closest to her feet.

"You're an idiot," she said as she dropped down into a crouch and used her wand to slice a cut deep into her forefinger. Draco hissed as he smelled her blood in the air. The rune for "hold" was used in entrapment spellwork, but it was closely related to the rune for "keep" used in protection spellwork. Hermione carefully pressed her finger into the arch of the rune and drew her finger slowly down and away to form a tail before looping back to connect back to the original rune. She held her breath as her blood finished the connection.

Nothing.

She released her breath. Okay. Nothing was okay. She moved over to the next "hold" rune and repeated the process. All the while Draco tried to convince her to stop, to escape while she still could, to live a full life without him. It was unbearable. She assumed he was numb, close to death as he was, but the burning sensation within her that pulled to him and demanded she protect him, just burned hotter.

When she was halfway around the circle, the runes she'd completed pulsed and threw sparks in the air. Startled, Hermione sat back, cradling her hand carefully to her chest lest she drip blood on the floor and change the spell. The finished half maintained a sheen missing from the half she had still to complete.

"Draco?" she called out to him.

He groaned in response.

"I'm coming," she said. She pushed herself forward and moved on to the rest of the circle.

"Only one left now," she whispered. Silently she prayed that this would work. The lone remaining rune from the original spell had blackened and it smoldered under her touch. As she brought her finger back to complete the connection she felt a great, icy cold resistance, like pushing against a wall of ice. She used her free hand to sure up the other as she pushed through writing the rune. With horror, she realized that by keeping her locked in this place, pushing against an invisible force, she was dripping more blood into the design of the rune. Any longer and the design would be misshapen, useless.

She grit her teeth and imagined forcing her hand through concrete; as she did so, she felt her hand move incrementally forward even as pain began to splinter through her hand like icy shards of glass embedding deep within the soft tissue. When her blood finally connected back to the rune, a great warmth returned to her as the perfectly sealed room emerged from the magical trap Michaels had turned it into.

The whole circle encasing Draco shimmered and sparked. She saw him breathe deeply and writhe against the floor as color seemed to return to his skin. She watched, rapt, as his wings seemed to knit themselves back together as his strength returned. His manacles still held fast though.

A sudden eruption of noise was the only warning Hermione had before the door to the chamber was flug open by the force of a spell. She threw herself into the center of the circle and crouched next to Draco. She placed her bleeding hand, now mangled and useless from the force she exerted to complete the final rune, over Draco's heart. She clutched her wand like a lifeline in the other.

Michaels stood just inside the doorway; battered, bloody, and heaving, he looked irate as he took in the changes to the runes.

"Clever _Mudblood_ Granger," he sneered.

Draco snarled and tried to lift away from Hermione as though he could attack the man.

Michaels brought his wand back to hurl a spell at her, but Hermione leaned into Draco and threw a protection spell up at once. She didn't know if it was the runes or her spell that caused his blow to ricochet and blast a hole in the wall of the chamber, but she wasn't interested in finding out. She kept the shield up as Michaels began to circle them. She didn't take her gaze from the man even as Draco grabbed her wrist harshly.

"Pull, dammit," he growled. She could hear his teeth in his voice. She felt the pinch of his talons along her skin. "Pull from me."

She focused on the connection in her chest, the part of her that now burned uncomfortably. She rocked with the force of it as she tried to inflame it, to let it consume her.

"That's it. That's it, Hermione," Draco gasped.

She felt his power building within her. Michaels stopped short as he watched her in horror.

"Now!" Draco yelled.

She pushed the power within herself out, through her own shield, and watched as it engulfed Michaels in blue flames. He shrieked in pain briefly, but Hermione kept the fire flowing through her until all that remained of the man was a charred skeleton. She gasped brokenly in the wake of what she'd done. Distantly, she heard metal groaning. Draco shifted under her hand as he sat up. He was muttering something. Hermione felt his lips move against her skin as he spoke, but she could only hear the deep gasping wheezing that seemed to be coming from her.

  
His skin was warm. One of his hands moved to grip her elbow and hold her arm away from him. She whimpered. She'd left a bloody handprint over his heart. Slowly, her hand began to heal. Draco's magic felt like a gentle rain she couldn't see, first landing on her skin and then tracing over it as it ran off of it.

  
He rotated her hand softly as he examined it. Gently, he held it and ran his thumb across her palm, feeling for any lingering breaks beneath the surface. She gasped and he brought his lips, still dried and cracked, to her temple. He shushed her gently as he wrapped his arms around her waist.

  
"It's okay," he said. His voice was no more than a whisper, but it felt too loud. He pulled her to him as he lay back against the concrete floor. Hermione turned in his arms and saw the broken manacles. She studied the protection shield that still pulsed around them. His labored breathing. She placed her now healed hand over the bloody handprint drying over his heart; she felt for his heartbeat with her magic- his pulse was rapid but thready.  
  
She'd returned much of his strength to him when she'd changed the nature of the runes. Enough strength to break his iron bonds, and to power her magic to kill Michaels, but the force of that magic had left him perilously weak.  
  
He smiled at her, his eyes heavy lidded, as he exhaled heavily.  
  
Hermione locked her eyes on Draco's. She could do this. She picked up his hand and placed it against her cheek. She turned into his palm and kissed it chastely. The next kiss lingered longer. The third kiss had her drawing the salt of his skin into her mouth and sent a frisson of anticipation along her spine. Draco looked at her, questioning and slightly alarmed, as she straddled him. She bent down until their noses were nearly touching and she could feel his soft breath against her chin. With a glance toward the open doorway, she sealed it once again.

"We're going to mate and you are going to bite me," she said in her most matter of fact tone.  
  
"Granger," he growled.  
  
"We need to. I know it isn't what you wanted, but we're terribly lucky you made it this far. You _need_ to mate me, Draco. Do you understand?" she asked. He nodded weakly, but his pupils were already widening, pushing his irises into thin rings of silver. She kissed his mouth softly on the corners, letting her lips graze his fangs, then she nipped his bottom lip and sucked on it.  
  
He growled and goosebumps erupted across her skin as she felt a chill left in the wake of his hands as they molded to her body and ran down the length of her spine. She sat back, grabbing one of his hands and bringing it to her chest. She shivered as he cupped her breast, kneading softly through her clothing. She moaned. Too many layers.

No sooner had she thought it, than he'd snagged his talons through the material and set to work shredding her clothes. She ripped off the remains of her jacket and shirt while Draco delicately pulled his talons along the seams on either side of her pants. The fabric split and fell away. He shredded her underwear in his grasp and tossed her garments aside.  
  
Hermione panted with want. The burning within her that signified their tenuous but growing connection, now pulsed in time with her blood.  
  
"Draco," she gasped. She leaned back and he moved her to straddle his thigh. He guided her to lean down over him, positioned so her breasts dangled before him. He captured one nipple in his mouth and sucked hard as he palmed the other breast. He held her in position with his other hand and she bore down on his thigh, gasping as she rode his thick muscled thigh.  
  
His wings came up around them, creating a cocoon.  
  
"Can you come just from this?" he asked. His breath, cool across her wet nipple, caused her to shudder. "Answer me, Granger," he snarled.  
  
She gasped, her whole body taut and on the precipice. She moaned.  
  


"That's not an answer," he said darkly. She ground down harder against his leg and brought her own hand up to pinch the nipple his mouth neglected. He growled at that, and seeing her fingers at work, nipped at them and drew them into his mouth along with her nipple. He sucked hard, the blunted edge of his teeth digging into her fingers. She moaned, seeking her release with more desperation.  
  
"I can't, I can't," she panted. He released his hold on her hip and instead gripped the hand she had planted on his shoulder. He eased her grip from him and, never letting up on her breast, brought her hand up to her mouth. She sucked on her fingers, not sure where Draco was leading. He pulled her fingers from her mouth and guided her hand down between her legs. Hermione caught on and took control of her hand, sliding her fingers along her folds, through her juices and teasing her bud, Draco kept his hand over hers.  
  
She stared at his hand gently following hers, not guiding or controlling, but accompanying her. She shuddered as her muscles contracted hard.

"Draco, please!"

Draco sat up suddenly, unseating her from his thigh, and dragging her closer, higher in order to arrange her so she hovered over him.  
  
"Are you ready?" he asked. His eyes, endless black orbs, venom dripped from his fangs down his chin, and one of his hands now squeezed his cock in a viselike grip. She nodded, but he didn't do anything.

"Yes," she whispered. He guided her down. She shuddered as she felt his shaft push past her muscles.  
  
He groaned deeply. She felt the sound reverberate in her own chest. She shuddered to a stop as it became too much for her. She wrapped her arm around his neck and rested her head against his shoulder as her muscles tightened involuntarily.  
  
"Just- just need- a moment."  
  
His breath came in harsh pants, but he only held her.  
  
"Okay," she said. "I think-" She tested her muscles and took him in another inch. Slowly, she worked her way down, until she was seated in his lap and gasping at the stretch.  
He grimaced and grit his teeth.  
  
"Sorry," he bit out. She laughed, acutely aware as she did so that she could feel every inch of him within her.

"For what?" 

Instead of answering, Draco pulled her hair away from her shoulder and laved her skin with his tongue. The trail of venom his tongue left tingled even as it set to work numbing her skin.

Hermione rocked against him letting the pleasure overwhelm the slight sting she felt as her body adjusted to his size.

His bite, when it came, left her shaking. She felt the tearing of her flesh, but it was almost immediately overwhelmed with the heat of their bond finally being accepted and welcomed. She felt his desperation for her, his joy in her, and his insecurities. As those feelings faded, she felt his overwhelming love for her. It surrounded her, caressing and licking over every inch of her skin as she cried out. Draco removed his fangs and licked over the wound to heal it. Every stroke of his tongue along her neck, stoked the fire emanating from her core.

He pulled her down and rolled them, one hand cradling her head, so she lay against the ground. His eyes, still blown black, studied her as he began to tentatively thrust. He watched her every gasp, cataloguing each moan, and growled in response to her tightening grip around him.

"Mine!" he growled.

"Always," she gasped. "Draco…" she trailed off.

" _Now,"_ he commanded through the bond.

Her back arched off the ground and her fervent gasps seemed to echo loudly in her head. Her nails scrabbled against his back and she cried out as she reached her peak. A rush of heat and a feeling like effervescent bubbles dancing across her skin marked the completion of the bond. Draco panted wetly against the crown of her head.

"You alright?" he asked quietly. She groaned happily in reply while her fingers sought out his pulse, now strong. He bestowed a single kiss to her temple, nuzzling against her and whispered, "I think we scarred Potter."

Hermione tried to jerk away from him in alarm, but he was heavy atop her.

"What?"

"I have to say," came Harry's bewildered voice, "I never imagined I could ever feel quite so relieved that Malfoy sprouts wings."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy last day of 2020! May love and light await us in the new year, and may we recognize simple joys as we find them in our day to day.❤️


End file.
